Devil May Care
by psyche b. mused
Summary: To Sara, angels are pretty fiction and demons are ugly fiction...until one night she meets the truth face to face. Crowley saw the potential for a bit of amusement...but potentials are not always fulfilled in the way one expects...
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I wasn't going to post this for a number of reasons, but the little tickle of an idea has grown so much that I thought I would throw it out there and see if anyone else enjoyed it. The title of this chapter is from the poem "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe._

 _I hope you enjoy!_

 _psyche b_

1\. Demon In My View

Crowley was bored.

It had taken some time and some creativity to return Hell to the delicate balance of chaos and order that seemed to work best. Just because it worked didn't mean the whole thing wasn't bloody dull at times. Torture this lot, execute that lot, listen to some underling explain why production isn't higher, blah, blah, blah. Hardly enough to keep one day from running into the other. True he had time now to indulge his own interests, but all of the usual distractions began to pall too. Here he was, charming, sophisticated, not to mention handsome and the supreme ruler of an expansive dimension with untold resources at his fingertips, and what was he doing? Staring at the 'Now Serving' board and watching the numbers tick over and the lines of the damned shuffle forward.

Then there was the human blood. Although he was loath to admit it, his time of addiction had left its mark. There were moments of yearning for something he couldn't name and a sentimentality that brought a lump to his throat at the strangest times. Sex, in all of its imaginative forms, came close to appeasing the yearning sometimes. Nothing came close to quelling the sentimentality and frankly, it pissed him off. It pissed him off even more that his relationship with Moose and Squirrel was now even more complicated than it had been in the past.

In the back of his mind, he could hear the calls from a thousand crossroads across the world and his eyebrows lifted just a fraction. Before he was the King of Hell, he had been worn another title; King of the Crossroads. Humans had a way of being mildly distracting and sometimes a king just had to make his own fun.

#

This is ridiculous, Sara thought. They should have been back in the dorm, or at least sneaking out to someplace normal. The normal 'sneaking out to party' probably wouldn't make for a very good night out for her either though. Sara had accepted that she and 'normal fun' had never really been comfortable in each other's company.

"Why do you look so worried?" Leah checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. "You know Sister Julia is deaf as a post. If she gets curious, Dani and Becks will cover for us. We're not going to get caught. Besides, even if we do, we're in college now." She tossed her lipstick back into her bag. The gesture conveyed finality.

"You've said that every other day since August." Sara glanced at the ribbon of road on the Garmin. She tried not to think about the fact that the rest of the landscape was uncomfortably blank. "Besides, I'm not worried about getting caught."

Leah groaned. "Oh God, not this again."

"Yes, this again," Sara said.

"It's just fun."

"It's not just fun. You don't know what's going to happen-"

Leah took a tin box out of the back seat. "It's a box of crap, Sara. Not to mention a bunch of mumbo jumbo words that probably don't mean anything anyways. "

"They certainly do mean something."

"Pardon me Miss Always Gets A's in Latin."

"If it's all crap then why do you want to do it so bad? Why did you pick at me until I agreed to drive you all the way out to the armpit of nowhere?" Sara couldn't keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"You could have just let me borrow your car." Leah said.

Sara smiled a little. "Your driving leaves a lot of be desired."

"And without me you'd never have any fun."

"Spells at crossroads aren't on the usual list of fun outings and you never did tell me why you're so set on it." Sara asked.

"Because – Because I didn't have a date."

It was a lie and Sara knew it. Leah was obsessed with the idea of summoning a demon ever since she found that old book in the basement of the library. Sara had tried to talk her out of it for over a month. She had threatened, and cajoled and reasoned and none of it had worked. Up until an hour before she had steadfastly refused to help Leah in any way. When it was obvious that Leah wasn't going to change her mind, Sara couldn't let her best friend do something like this on her own. She tried to keep her voice neutral. "What if nothing happens?"

Leah attempted a casual shrug. "We go back to school."

"And you drop this? Just like that?"

"Course." Another lie.

"What if something does happen? What if it isn't all crap?" Sara asked.

" _You have arrived at your destination."_ The mechanical voice of the Garmin interjected.

"You have got to be kidding me." Sara stared at the run down bar. Well, run down was probably a generous description. Decrepit was more accurate. The place might have been painted at some point, but wind and weather had stripped that off long ago leaving only bare gray boards. A dirty window looked out on a parking lot that was lit only by the red neon sign that read "X-Roads Inn". The sign flickered at irregular intervals dousing the nearly empty dirt lot in unreliable crimson light. Sara was still taking it all in when she heard the car door open and close.

"Come on." Leah started toward the crossroads.

Sara trotted after her and grabbed her arm. "You just want to go and do this?"

"That's why we're here." Leah said.

"You got all dressed up to go bury a box of garbage? Come on. You wouldn't even walk across the lawn in those shoes last week and now you're going to go running off across the gravel?" Sara knew it sounded lame, but she was desperate. She wasn't even sure where all this desperation was coming from. Saints and angels were pretty fiction and demons were ugly fiction, but something about the whole thing felt wrong to her.

Leah smiled. "Like you said, what if something happens? Coming?"

Sara looked at the bar and then at the crossroads bathed in the weak yellow light of a single street light and tried to decide which was the lesser of the two evils. "If I say no, will it make a difference?"

Leah laughed. "Nope. It's all crap, right? Order me something with a little umbrella."

Sara watched Leah mince her way across the rutted parking lot on dangerously high stilettos. She should go with her, but something kept her feet rooted to the spot. Sara turned and walked up the two stairs onto a hollow-sounding porch. Weathered boards shifted under her feet just a little too much for Sara's comfort. The door protested with a loud squeak as she opened it. Inside the bar was just as seedy as the outside. There was a haze of alcohol tinged smoke hanging in the air, though where it had come from was a mystery because the place was empty. Mismatched wooden chairs and tables wore battle scars, so did the bar. The bartender was a mountainous man in a stained undershirt. He might have looked terrifying if it weren't for the expression of utter boredom on his face.

He regarded Sara for a moment, his brown eyes dull. "You wanna sit you buy a drink."

She swallowed hard and glanced behind the bar. Most of the bottles she saw were cheap hard liquor and many were dusty, all except for several bottles of a very fine Scotch. Her eyebrow twitched with curiosity. "Beer." She put her hand into her bag, ready to produce a fake ID and money.

He gave her a warmish bottle of Budweiser and a glass speckled with what might have been water spots. He took the money without glancing at the ID.

She turned to find a seat and that's when she noticed the one other patron in the place, though it was clear from the way that his eyes lingered that he had definitely noticed her. He picked up a heavy, cut crystal glass and took a sip of the dark amber liquid in it. Sara pretended not to notice and chose a seat by the window. She set the beer and the glass aside and watched Leah struggle to scrape a hole deep enough in the gravel of the crossroads to bury the box.

"Waiting your turn?" The man from the other side of the room had appeared at her elbow.

Sara barely suppressed a little jump. "I don't know what you mean." She turned back to the window, hoping the stranger would take the hint.

He sat down across from her. "Come on now, pet. It's nothing to be shy about." His voice put her in mind of roughened velvet. The English accent added to the effect.

"I think you're mistaking me for-"

"I've been at this a long time, darling. Your friend out there is burying a box containing the ingredients of a spell." He looked out the window in time to see Leah manage to get the box covered over. "She'll recite an incantation and a demon will appear to grant her a single wish for a nominal fee."

Sara really looked at him for the first time. He was exquisitely tailored with intense eyes and the kind of stubble that was fashionable. A little smirk was playing around his lips and she was sure that she caught a spark of fire in his hazel eyes. She drew a deep breath. The possibility was too much to think about. She looked out the window to see Leah chatting with a man in a loud green suit. The way Leah touched his arm and the way he nudged her shoulder was familiar and flirtatious. Sara started to get up but her companion grasped her wrist and held it in a surprisingly gentle grip.

"Mustn't interfere." One fingertip stroked the inside of her wrist.

"But she's about to-"

"Exercise her God given free will. A means to desired end." His fingertip circled the prominent nub of bone on her wrist, then took his hand away and lifted his glass. "Crowley. And you?"

Sara was sure she could still feel his touch tingling over her skin. The thought of not answering didn't even occur to her. "Sara." She glanced out the window again. Leah was laughing with the man in the green suit. Sara's eyebrows drew together.

"The way of the world, pet. We trade what we have for what we want." He took a languid swallow of the Scotch. "Surely there must be something you want."

She looked at him, her eyes locked on his. "No."

He smiled. "You haven't even heard what I can offer. A bright girl like you could go a long way with a bit of assistance."

"There's nothing I want from you." Sara said firmly.

The door burst open and Leah came in. She was smiling and her lipstick was smudged. She came over to Sara. "I'm going to be famous!"

"Another satisfied customer." Crowley said. Sara ignored him.

"Famous for what?" Sara asked.

Her eyebrows drew together. "I don't know, but famous is good right? How bad could it be?" She giggled. "Did you meet a guy? You never meet guys! Who's your friend?"

Sara ignore the last two questions. "You didn't even specify what you wanted?"

Leah pulled a compact out of her handbag. "I did. I said famous and he said okay. Why would I say anything else?" She started to fix her lipstick. "Aren't you going to-"

"No." She got up and grasped Leah's wrist. "Come on."

"I haven't even had a drink yet." Leah protested.

Sara held the door open. Leah trotted after her, complaining about wanting a drink. She looked at a staring Crowley. "It was...interesting meeting you." Why Sara had felt so compelled to say it was a mystery to her. She let the door slam shut behind her.

#

Crowley had almost forgotten how predictable most humans were. He was having a drink and considering searching for amusement elsewhere when she walked in. A tiny little thing with soft mahogany curls and a confidence that was far older than her years. She hadn't flinch from his touch and she met his eyes. Not only that, she wasn't tempted. Not even a little bit. Oh he'd seen plenty of refusals. Most were given out of fear or the desire to do the 'right' thing. She'd rejected his offer like he couldn't possibly have anything she'd be interested in.

He took a long swallow of the Scotch and felt the pull of the human blood inside him. He refused to acknowledge it, telling himself that this was why he'd come back to the crossroads. This stubborn, complex soul that only a king could acquire.

A bit of research wouldn't go amiss though.

Crowley disappeared, taking the rest of the Scotch with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I couldn't be more thrilled with the response to the first chapter of this story. It was well beyond my expectations and every single review, favorite and follow made my day! Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you all enjoy this chapter too.**

 **psyche b.**

2\. Fantastic Terrors Never Felt Before

Sara knelt on the floor next to the milk crate Stephanie was standing on and tried to hold her temper. The other girl was practically vibrating with excitement, which made pinning the hem of dress Stephanie was wearing all but impossible.

"Did I tell you where we were going?" Stephanie said. Her voice had to go only half a step higher and I would be in the in silent dog whistle range.

Sara reminded herself that this was about the dress and tried to catch hold of the hem long enough to pin it. "Quicey's Rooftop." She said. She moved around in front of Stephanie, hoping to get pins in the back and front at least.

"Quincey's Rooftop!" Stephanie gave a little bounce, pulling the fabric out of Sara's hands. "Oh I know it's not _the_ best restaurant in the area but it's pretty close and Mark is still in college." She squirmed with excitement. "Do you know why he's taking me someplace so fabulous?"

Stephanie had told Sara – and anyone else in earshot – why for the last two months. "You think he's going to ask you to marry him," Sara said. She managed to catch hold of the hem long enough to turn it and pin it.

"He's going to ask me to marry him!" Stephanie did a little pirouette on her perch. "And I know just what I'll say. I'm going to say that I have to think about it and then after a day or so I'll say yes but only if he gets my father's permission. That shouldn't be an issue because Daddy loves him. He's always saying that I should marry a boy just like him-"

Sara tuned her out and sat back on her heels. As long as Stephanie was shifting around like a Mexican jumping bean with a bladder control issue she would never get the hem pinned. It gave her a minute to look at the dress. It was too frothy and too pink and too reminiscent of something out of Cinderella, but it was exactly what Stephanie wanted and the fit was perfect. It was beyond Sara how she had managed it, considering all that had been on her mind.

It had been nearly two weeks since she'd taken Leah out to the crossroads. They had ridden back to school in silence. Leah was preening, expecting photographers around every turn. Sara couldn't get over the idea that she had already lost her best friend. Leah promised that would never happen, not even after her new fame presented itself. Two days later Leah was gone without so much as text to say goodbye.

Sara had lost track of how many times she'd called Leah. All of those calls went directly to voicemail and none of them were returned.

Sara wished she had never set eyes on that horrible little place. Except…she looked down at her wrist. The memory of Crowley's touch still lingered there. The idea that he really was a…well…what he seemed to be was probably ridiculous but there was something about him. She rubbed at the side of her wrist.

"What are you doing? Do you have a rash? It's not contagious is it?" Stephanie lifted her skirt out of the way as if she had seen a mouse. "I can't be all itchy and blotchy on Friday. When Mark goes to put the ring on my finger I'll look like a leper."

Sara wondered how Stephanie's friends tolerated that voice. "It's not a rash, I swear." She glanced at the clock. "It's nearly seven. Father Gordon is expecting me at the church. Why don't you take that off and I'll finish it up tomorrow. You can pay me the rest when you pick it up on Thursday."

"Do you think it looks alright?" Stephanie asked, studying herself in the full length mirror. "It's not too-"

"It's perfect." Sara said, knowing it was all Stephanie really wanted to hear anyway. She unzipped the dress and then went out into the suite's small common area to get her shoes on. Stephanie came out a few minutes later, still babbling about her plans. Sara made sure that the dress was sitting correctly on the dress form before leaving.

Sara trotted across the dim quad, sticking to the warm puddles of lamplight until she turned down the tree-lined lane that led to the church. She took a few deep breaths and then went into the building. The silence inside held its breath and she did too, feeling like an intruder for a moment until the quiet rearranged itself to accommodate her. Sara blessed herself with water from the fount and then made her way up into the choir loft. Father Gordon was already there waiting for her.

"Evening Sara. Right on time." The rail thin white-haired priest rose. She wasn't on time, but he always said she was. There was a white plastic grocery bag on the floor next to him.

"Hi Father Gordon. " She pointed at the bag. "Some work for me?"

"Just the usual. Three long-sleeved shirts to be turned into short sleeved shirts for the summer."

She smiled. "Now that's a real sign of spring. I'll do it for seven dollars per shirt."

His eyebrows rose in perfectly feigned surprise. "I'm a priest you know. I took a vow of poverty."

"You're a customer, and I didn't take any vows." Sara tried to maintain a serious expression, but she couldn't keep the smile from her lips.

"Well, the nuns would do it for free."

Sara nodded. "They would. Sister Benedict would happily volunteer. As long as you don't mind one sleeve being shorter than the other it sounds like a perfectly economical solution."

He laughed. "Vanity isn't only a sin it's an expense." He handed over the bag and smiled at her. "Now, down to the business at hand."

She set the bag on the bench. "I'm not sure why you wanted me to come. Every time I do this you say that it's perfect."

He smiled at her. "Perhaps simply hearing you sing makes me feel closer to heaven. Besides, without practice you may lose all of that perfection before the service."

Sara smiled a little and stepped forward to the choir rail. She faced the empty church.

Father Gordon took out a pitch pipe. "Remember your breathing, and remember to relax." He blew a note and waited.

Sara closed her eyes, took two deep breaths, then she began to sing the Ave Maria.

#

Crowley tapped on his desk impatiently. This girl was becoming a very delicious thorn in his side. Good thing the King found pleasure in pain or he would have given up after the first week. The elusive Sara had given him nothing to go on, hadn't even left a hair behind at that disgusting bar. There seemed to be bits of half the population of New York State, but it was as if that one bright soul had never been there. As time went on he was beginning to think she was some sort of fantasy, but not even his vivid imagination could have conjured the silky feeling of her skin. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel it. It was more than enough to keep him looking.

He could have summoned Jubal, the demon that had made the deal with Sara's ridiculous friend but that would be tipping his hand. He wasn't prepared to do that just yet. No, he would find the girl himself. Crowley wouldn't have gotten to where he was without a few tricks up his sleeve.

#

Sara sat on the front bench of the choir loft and let the service wash over her. The high school graduates were sitting in the front pews. Their families packed the rest of the church. This was the fifth time she'd sung at a graduation ceremony and the service was always the same. Each time she tuned it out until the choir sang. This time, there was a different feeling in the church. At least, something felt different about it to Sara.

She kept scanning the crowd, looking for something or someone she couldn't name. All she saw was the pageant of the mass and the backs of well-groomed heads until her eye fell on…well…nothing. It was simply a patch of shadow that wasn't angled quite how it should be. Sara narrowed her eyes.

While Father Michaels prepared for the offertory, Father Gordon asked her to come forward and sing. She took the two steps to the heavy railing and looked out over the dense gathering. It didn't look any different than it had any other time, but there was that collection of darkness. No one else seemed to notice and they were all beginning to shuffle in their seats. She lowered her eyes, took a couple of deep breaths and then looked up again. She closed her eyes and began to sing. She assumed that the procession went forward.

#

A church. Of course it was a church. He'd had to dive into the asshole of nowhere twice to get all the ingredients for the only spell he could find that would locate her and this was what it came back with.

"Bollocks." The word was a soft growl under his breath.

For a moment he thought about not bothering. She was only a girl, only one soul. He could have ten more signed up by lunchtime and that's if he were off his game. The prospect did not excite him. They were dull, ordinary souls like countless others on his books. It was her bright soul piqued his curiosity so much that he had gone to these lengths in the first place.

"Your Majesty?" His secretary said. She was plain and efficient and mouthy as all hell. The fact that the spell had worked and he didn't act on it would be all across several dimensions in the wag of bloated tongue.

He adjusted his tie and put on his jacket. He checked his look in the full length mirror. He did have a reputation after all.

He pointed to his desk. "Clear that up and get the stink out of here before I get back."

He steeled himself for the inevitable feeling of acid rushing over his skin and teleported into the heart of the enemy camp. The burn was there, but it wasn't much worse than holy water with a pinch of salt mixed in. That was wrong for a start. Within seconds it subsided to a level that he could easily bear with gritted teeth. A minute longer and it became more like a low level electrical current. Not entirely unpleasant, and completely wrong. He looked out from his dark alcove, scanning the crowd and telling himself that he was going to make her suffer when he found her again.

He didn't see her, but something in the stained glass caught his eye. The image itself was standard storybook claptrap, angels with fluffy wings watched over two little girls. Buried in the lines of leading was an Enochian symbol. His eyes slid to the next window and found two more. The next window held another. The more he ignored the images and looked at the lines the more he was able to discern. Put them all together and they added up to angel warding. Not your average, run of the mill angel warding either. Whoever had put this together had done his homework.

Now why would good Catholics want to keep angels out but leave the door wide open for demons?

There was unease in the large church and people had started to shift in their seats. He heard a sound from the choir loft. Sara stepped forward. She wasn't nervous, he could see that much from her posture. But she hesitated, scanning the crowd. Finally she closed her eyes and began to sing.

Crowley stood in a dim alcove at the side of the church and listened. The sweetness of the tone was salted with a darkness that one could hear under every note and she was practiced enough to use the echo of the space so that notes blended into chords. The richness of it tugged at every trace of sentimentality the human blood had left in him. It made his chest ache; made the pull of the blood and the yearning almost unbearable. It angered him and soothed him at the same time and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Before the song was over he decided that one soul wasn't worth the trouble. He decided that she was not worth his time. Just before the end of the song she turned her face toward the place where he was standing and rubbed at her wrist. The one that he had gripped those weeks ago. Crowley could feel that silky skin and those delicate bones under his fingers again. For a moment he thought she had seen him, but her eyes were still closed.

What would he say to Jubal or any of the other demons who worked the crossroads? He wouldn't accept failure from any of them, why should he give up so easily? She was a human girl. With a few artful touches she would beg to sign up.

Crowley waited until Sara was seated again before disappearing.

#

Sara paced in her room after the service. She'd felt his presence. It was ridiculous but Sara was certain of what she felt.

For weeks she had told herself that she hadn't been thinking straight that night. None of it could have been real because none of it made any sense. Of course Leah had disappeared. Maybe a man had been there, but he couldn't have been as well tailored and attractive – if older – as she remembered. Still, her wrist still tingled when she thought of him and she still dreamed of that voice. Now, in those few minutes it took to sing a song all of those careful walls she had constructed around that night disintegrated.

Even if he was what she thought, why would he have any interest in her? She didn't want anything from him and no matter what he offered she knew it wasn't worth her soul. Sara might not have been what anyone would call a good Catholic, but she knew better than to barter with something eternal for something temporary.

He'd get bored and go away. She kept repeating that to herself. Mostly she didn't believe it and there was a part of her that couldn't bear the thought.

#

Four days later, Sara sang again for the college graduates and again she felt his presence, though when she scanned the crowd she couldn't see him. What would a – she couldn't even bring herself to think the word – be doing in a church anyway?

The day after the second service she was one of three students left in her dorm. The other two had already expressed a desire to join the order and were doing their best to live 'contemplative lives'. In other words it was early to bed, early to rise and a steady stream of prayers and penance in between. Sara was usually happy to be on her own. That night she missed all the little distractions of doors opening and closing, and the sounds of laughter and music filtering through the halls.

After midnight, the weight of the emptiness was pressing down on her like a physical weight. She couldn't take it any longer. Sara pulled on an extra sweater and a second pair of socks and padded up to the third floor via the back stairs. At the end of the hall was a locked door. She knew from experience that a hairpin and a couple of careful jiggles of the handle and it would tease the old lock open. She climbed the spiral staircase to the roof and sat with her back resting against the iron railing that surrounded what she and the other girls referred to as the widow's walk. It was completely off limits and all the more attractive because of that fact. Here the quiet had been replaced by the secrets shared by sighing wind and rustling trees.

Sara took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes again. The dark mountains stretched out around her. Stars twinkled overhead and the lights of towns collected like dew in nearby valleys. It was late spring but there was still a chill in the air. Sara let the scrolling curves of the railing cradle her head. She felt herself starting to relax. She closed her eyes again and let some of the tension slip out of her shoulders. The noise that usually filled her head started to calm and with the calm came whispering fluttering at the edges of her consciousness.

"Evening Pet."

Sara opened her eyes to see Crowley standing in front of her. He was still perfectly tailored, a little smile on his lips.

Her heart started to pound and she scrambled to her feet, her back pressed against the wrought iron railing. "How did you-?"

He moved a little closer, his hands in his coat pockets. "Bit of detective work, bit of magic. Not that you made it easy for me."

Sara studied him with a wary eye. The same feeling that she had in the church came back stronger. "It's not the first time though, is it?" She stepped to the side, putting a little more distance between them while edging closer to the door. "You were in the church when I was singing."

His eyebrows lifted. "You are full of surprises, and it takes a hell of a lot to surprise me." He turned and looked at the view. "Not bad as hiding places go."

Sara took another slow step backward, her muscles tensed and ready to run. "Who said it's a hiding place?"

"Come on, darling. This is about as far from anybody else as you could get." He looked over his shoulder at her. "I don't bite." The little smirk turned decidedly lascivious. "Unless you want me to."

Sara blushed and let her hair fall to hide her face. She stepped a little closer to him. "I just…I needed some air." She ventured a glance over at him. "Besides, I can see my whole world from up here."

He studied her from the corner of his eye. "You mean that."

She had used that particular phrase countless times, but no one had ever taken her seriously. Sara studied him for a moment. She couldn't trust him. She knew that much. But Sara had never been one to trust anyone easily. At least now the pretense was gone. She nodded and took a deep breath. "This entire complex is the St. Augustin School for Girls and the St. Augustin Women's College. I've lived here since I was eight. To the right is the town of Frieling. It has a movie theater. Graton has a few shops and a terrific ice cream parlor. It's only open in the summer though. Baker doesn't have very much, except the St. Aloysious Boys School and Men's College. In between there are hiking trails, lakeside picnic areas," She looked at him. "And a sketchy little dive that somehow exists in the middle of nowhere."

He put his back to the railing and looked at her. "Fair dues, your friend chose that place."

Sara's curiosity took over. The question was out before she could stop it. "You mean it's not specific to that one place?"

A small smile tickled the corners of his lips. "My my. We are curious this evening, aren't we pet?"

Sara took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her upper arms hard enough to feel her fingernails through the sweater. "Yes, _we_ are. You're the one who's been spying on me, remember?" Her voice was infused with more confidence than she felt.

He spread his hands and shrugged. "What can I say? I have a curious nature. I propose a deal-"

"No." Sara shook her head and took another step back.

He advanced. "Hear me out. All I propose is a simple exchange of information. I answer your questions, you answer mine. Everyone walks away with all their respective parts," His eyes swept over her from her pink and white wool socks, up over her leggings and over the white cable sweater that fell to her mid-thigh and was loose enough to conceal her every curve. "Intact."

The lingering gaze and the sensual tone that dripped from the last word made Sara feel positively naked despite the layers. She swallowed hard and looked away, letting her hair fall to hide her blush. "I guess there's nothing wrong with a conversation." She looked at him again, this time her gaze was direct. "But I have some conditions."

He smiled and rubbed his hands together. "I do love a negotiation."

"It's not a negotiation. You ask the first question, and I will answer if I choose to. If I do, I get accurate information in return."

Curiosity commingled with darkness and hellfire in his eyes. "And if you don't answer?"

The shrug looked less natural than she hoped it would. "I guess the deal is off."

He studied her for a moment. "I ask first?"

"Yes." Sara forced herself to stand still as he thought. This was too easy, but she had no idea where he would go with it.

"Have you eaten?"

The question startled her. "What?"

"Come on now, pet. We haven't even gotten to the hard ones yet."

His sarcasm brought a little smile to her lips, but she did her best to hide it. "Well, no I haven't had anything since breakfast. Why?"

He glanced around the rooftop. "Lovely as this little hideaway is, if we're going to have a proper chat I'd like a proper drink. Ever hear of Sabella's?"

"Yes." She said carefully. "Leah was dating a married guy a while back. He took her there a couple of times." Her eyes widened. "Is it run by…well…I mean….nevermind." Sara blushed.

"Demons? It's not a dirty word. Now, finish your question." There was a definite note of command in his voice.

Sara could have refused. She knew she probably should have, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Is it run by demons?" The word still stuck in her throat.

He smiled. "Not yet, but the executive chef is under contract. Shall we?"

Sara shook her head. "I know what Leah looked like when she left here. I think yoga pants and a couple of old sweaters would be frowned upon."

He walked around her slowly. "Part of the chef's deal is that my companions and I always get a decent table. Of course my companions are usually a bit less sensitive about appropriate dress." Sara swore she could feel the weight of his appraisal. She was used to being looked at by boys her own age, but this was different. Her heart was pounding by the time he got back in front of her again. "I think I can help you." He raised his hand as if to snap his fingers.

"What? No!" Sara said. "What are you doing?"

He gave a frustrated little growl. "You're far too fond of that word."

She shivered a little. "What word?"

"No."

Sara met his gaze, anger and sarcasm laced her words even though her heart was still pounding. "Well pardon me. Making dinner plans with demons isn't exactly something I do every day."

He chuckled. "Such a sharp tongue. Perhaps something simpler for our first outing. Pizza?"

She felt a little blush rise to her cheeks. There were a million reasons to refuse. More than a million. In that moment, under that supremely confident gaze, she couldn't think of a single one. "Pizza sounds good."

He started toward the door and then turned back to her. "So we're clear, I'm not just a demon. I'm the King of Hell." He snapped his fingers and Sara felt as though she was falling through oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi Everyone!_

 _First of all, you are all the most awesome readers ever! I really didn't think that anyone would be so interested in this story. The fact that so many of you are reading and following and commenting just makes my day. One of the questions I was asked was where in the Supernatural timeline this story falls. The truth is, I don't know. I just write what comes to me and hope someone else enjoys it. The rest of the questions…well…read on._

 _The title is a quote from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I hope you all enjoy!_

 _psyche b._

 **3\. The Devil's Most Devilish When Respectable**

The sensation of falling lasted for less than a second and then there was thick carpeting beneath her feet. There was no sudden jolt or sensation of hitting the ground from a height. She was one place and then milliseconds later she was somewhere else. That wasn't nearly enough time to process what he had just said and certainly not enough to wrap her head around the reality that she had been on the roof of her dorm and now she was…where? She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingernails digging into her upper arms in the hopes of controlling the tremors that were threatening to consume her.

It didn't work.

The instability started in her knees and worked its way up settling around her shoulders and reaching down to compress her chest. Crowley took her elbow and led her a few steps to a chair, a look of genuine concern flashing through his hazel eyes. It was either a split second of pure humanity or it was a trick of the light. In her shocked state Sara didn't trust herself to know which. He turned toward a marble-topped bar to the right of the wide fieldstone fireplace. She kept her eyes fixed on his shoulders and forced herself to draw a deep breath, then another. When he turned back, he held a cut glass tumbler out to her. It held a small amount of dark amber liquid.

Sara shook her head. "No. I-I don't…no.." The words trailed away as if she had forgotten what she was going to say.

"Sip it slowly. Best treatment I know for shock."

Sara hesitated.

"No tricks, no strings." His voice softened. "Take it."

Sara's hands trembled as reached for the glass. When she took the tumbler her fingers brushed his. The spark of contact flickered through his eyes and raced down her spine. She shifted her fingers and held the heavy glass close to her chest to keep from dropping it. After the frisson of the brief touch faded, she chanced a small sip of the dark liquid. It traced heat all way down. Crowley watched her for a long moment, then turned and poured himself a more generous portion. Sara took another small sip and felt the heat radiating out from under her heart. It served to further sharpen her focus and she was able to really look around for the first time.

The large room was well-appointed, masculine and comfortable. A fire crackled in the fireplace. The leather armchair she was occupying was next to another just like it. Both were in front of the warm blaze. To her left she could see another darkened room through a set of open pocket doors. The long table could accommodate eight for dinner or a conference. To her right another set of double doors were almost directly across from the first. They were closed. "Where are we?"

He set his glass on the small table between the chairs and took off his black overcoat. He opened the buttons of his suit jacket and sat next to her. The intense gaze was back and so was the smirk. "You're expecting me to say Hell." He took a generous sip of the alcohol.

Sara drew her knees up so that she was resting on her hip, but she met his eyes. "Accurate answers. It's one of the rules." She was sure that he could hear the little tremor in her voice.

His eyes sharpened. "I always honor my deals." He picked up the glass and took a sip. When he looked at her again, his eyes were the same enticing hazel they were before. "But admit it, you expect me to say Hell."

Sara remained silent, her will battling with his. She looked around the room again. Well-appointed, but bland. There was nothing personal anywhere. Everything matched perfectly, but nothing stood out. She might not have a home of her own, but she hadn't been completely cloistered. Her friends had homes and when she'd visited them, no matter how much care the designer had taken there were always things that stood out. Always little clues to the personality of the person who lived there. She didn't expect he would have family photos, but he did seem fond of his flourishes and he was the acquisitive type. There would have been something, if this space were his. Her eyes fell on a painting above the fireplace. It was a painting of mountains and trees surrounding a lake. It was relatively well executed but utterly unimaginative and inoffensive.

She looked back at him again. "This isn't Hell. Not unless Hell looks like a hotel."

His eyebrows rose just a fraction. "What makes you so certain?"

She gave a little shrug with one shoulder. "That coat is vicuna. Hermés?"

He clucked his tongue but a little smile curled the corners of his lips. "Been peeking at my labels darling?"

Sara smiled a little but lowered her eyes, needing a refuge from his intense gaze even if it was only for a moment. "I notice clothes. Anyway, the coat and painting don't go together. That's the kind of coat that draws the attention, even if the viewer doesn't know why it stands out. Maybe for some it's the drape or the cut or the depth of the color. Doesn't really matter, it catches the eye. Someone who chooses a plain black overcoat that stands out in a crowd wouldn't hang a painting that fades into the background." She met his gaze again. "At least, that's my best guess."

His eyes brightened for just a fraction of a second and he gave a soft laugh. "Your best guess. We're at the Burlington Royal." He leaned forward a little. "The penthouse suite, of course."

Her eyes widened and Sara walked over to the wide balcony doors and opened them, stepping out into the chilly night. The mixture of small-town and city spread out in front of her. Sara recognized it from a field trip a few years ago. She closed her eyes and opened them again, but the view didn't change. Sara took a deep breath and walked back inside. "Burlington as in Vermont?" This time she couldn't disguise the tremor.

A slow smile spread across his face. "Your rules, darling. You've had your question and answer, now I get mine."

Sara's knees were shaking. At least this time she could blame the chill of the night air. She made her way back to the chair, drew her feet up and wrapped one of the sweaters around her knees. "Okay."

He studied her and for a moment, their eyes locked in a slow, wary tango. Neither was quite leading or quite following, but the longer the silence stretched the more complex the dance became.

The questions he might asked flickered through Sara's mind as well what might happen if she refused to answer. Being in another state in nothing but socks had changed the equation.

"What do you like on your pizza?" He asked finally.

That question hadn't even been on her radar. "What?" She asked.

He gave her an exaggerated exasperated look. "Pet, I know you aren't mentally slow."

"No, I just-" She decided that explanation was useless. "Pepperoni."

"See? Not so difficult after all." He got up and pushed a button on the phone. He spoke a few words into the receiver and refilled his glass.

"Why this hotel?" Sara asked.

"The suite is serviceable and the concierge is resourceful and solicitous." He grinned. "My turn."

Sara gave up trying to think of what he might ask and she did her best not to watch him move as he walked back to the chair.

"So, do you enjoy perching on all rooftops or just the one I found you on?" He took a sip of his drink and studied her over the rim of his glass. Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

Despite her best efforts to the contrary Sara smiled. She felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks. "Well that roof does tend to be the one I have access to most of the time. As long as I can find a hairpin." There were so many things she wanted to know. Too many to put words to. She followed his lead. "Why that little dive?"

He studied her for a moment, considering how much to tell her. "Twenty minutes before you arrived I had a very productive initial meeting with the CEO of a well-known brokerage house." He leaned toward her as if sharing a secret. "Gambling. It's a path that leads to all sorts of unexpected places."

She couldn't keep the curiosity out of her voice. "But it's the middle of nowhere."

"The thing that my representatives hear most often when they first answer a sales call isn't some version of 'thank you for coming' or 'I'm so glad to see you', it's 'I didn't think that would really work'. Men like my CEO all share two of the same flaws. They would do almost anything not to look like the fools they are, and they vastly overestimate how interesting they are to everyone else."

"So they think everyone is watching. If it doesn't work they look silly burying a box of random stuff. If it does work they think people will have actually paid close enough attention to connect burying the box with some kind of good fortune."

He nodded a little smile curling the corners of his lips. "The middle of nowhere provides enough privacy for the initial meeting. The negotiations can take place in more congenial surroundings once the customer finally admits to himself or herself that they're ready to move forward."

Sara shook her head and smiled a little. "You make it sound like a business transaction."

"That's exactly what it is." There was an intense sincerity to his voice that held Sara's rapt attention. "I provide a very unique and personalized service. Terms are agreed upon and a contract is signed and the terms are honored by both parties." He sat back and took a sip of his drink.

"You always get the better end of the deal."

"Is that a question?"

"It's an observation."

"Someone always does darling. I choose me."

Before Sara could respond someone knocked on the door. "Room service." The announcement was muffled. The door opened and a tired looking man in a shapeless dark green jacket came in pushing a cart.

"On the table." Crowley instructed.

The man in the green jacket set the table for two. Finally he lit the candles. When he was gone, Crowley stood and gestured toward the dining room. "Shall we?"

Sara followed him. He held out a chair for her. She hesitated, then sat down. The tips of his fingers trailed casually over her shoulders as he walked to his chair. Sara bit her lip and suppressed a pleasant shiver.

"This is...rather upscale for pizza."

He poured her a glass of wine and then one for himself. "The last time I ate pizza straight out of the box I was perhaps not at the apex of my power. Not a time I wish to harken back to."

Sara got the sense that this was not a topic he would be willing to talk about. She picked up her knife and fork and took a bite of the steaming slice. For a moment they ate in silence.

"What happened to Leah?" The question was out before Sara could really consider if she wanted the answer.

His mildly amused exterior didn't shift. "I believe you've had your question."

"You asked me if I was asking a question, I told you I was making an observation. It's my turn." His eyebrows rose. Sara looked into his eyes and smiled. "My rules."

He chuckled. "Your rules."

She blushed and lowered her eyes, reminding herself that the whole purpose of coming here was to get information. "So, what happened to Leah?"

"You were there. You saw the whole thing."

"I saw it, but…" She shook her head, giving up trying to be circumspect. She took a deep breath and tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Leah is gone. She disappeared a couple of days after we got back. I've left voicemails, I've texted. Her parents are freaking out because she hasn't contacted them either and since they knew I was her best friend I get to hear them freak out a couple of times a week. Is she going to be some kind of famous missing person? Are people going to talk about her like they talk about Jimmy Hoffa? Is she going to be a murder victim with a law named after her? Is she-"

He grasped her hand. "Breathe." His thumb stroked heel of her hand.

Sara took a trembling breath and felt her focus contract to that discreet arc of points at the base of her palm.

"Did Leah tell you the terms of her contract?"

Sara fixed him with a flat look. "You met Leah, sort of. Do you really think she even asked about the terms of her contract?"

"Point taken. What's her last name?"

A bite of pizza poised in midair. "Her last name? Why?"

"Pet, even I have a filing system."

"Kirtland." Sara took the bite of pizza.

He took a phone out of his inside jacket pocket.

Her eyebrows rose. "And you have a phone?"

"Just because the Catholics only recently came to grips with the fact that Galileo was right that doesn't mean we all have to live in the dark ages." He tapped the screen a couple of times and held it to his ear. "I want Leah Kirtland's contract." He was silent for a moment. "Jubal." His eyes narrowed and hardened. "I'm not playing twenty bloody questions. Find it. Now." He ended the call, put his phone away and held his hand out in a graceful gesture. A scroll appeared in it, a fleeting aroma of sulfur danced through the room.

Sara stared at it. "The twenty-first century?"

"Well, there are modern conveniences and then there are traditions." He gestured to the pizza. "More?"

"No, thanks." She looked at the scroll, trying to decipher some of the calligraphic Latin from her upside down vantage point. It was too many reorientations and translations for this hour of morning.

He took a languid swallow of wine. "Curious?" One finger stroked over the parchment. The candlelight added heat to his gaze.

Sara swallowed hard, her eyes following the path of his finger. Goosebumps rose on her skin.

"All you have to do is admit it." His voice was soft, teasing.

"Yes." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The heat in his eyes grew more intense but the tone of his voice didn't change, neither did the pace of that fascinating stroking finger. "Sorry, darling, I didn't quite catch that."

Sara took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm curious."

He smiled a little and his eyes glittered for just a moment, then he unrolled the scroll, quickly searching through the seemingly endless paragraphs and clauses. "This is fairly standard. Leah gets ten good years of fame, and it looks like Jubal added in fortune. All for the standard price." He looked up at her. "Is your friend a good kisser?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"It was added." He said it as if it should be obvious. "Jubal tends to listen more closely to what is meant than what is said if the client is a good kisser."

"That's allowed?"

He spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "I give my employees a great deal of autonomy within a few limits. Keeps productivity up."

Sara laughed. This time she didn't try to hide it.

Crowley returned Sara to her dorm room at a little after four in the morning, despite his desire to keep her longer. He couldn't see the angel warding, but he could feel it like the soft thrum of a well-tuned engine.

The room, like the girl, was not what he had expected. Several very fine pieces of furniture sat next to Ikea knockoffs. A dressmaker's dummy with a worn yellow tape measure draped around the shoulders stood in one corner. Sketches of dresses were pinned to a large cork board along with fabric swatches that would suit each one. She had an elegant sense of line and style that had been effectively concealed beneath the shapeless sweaters. It was also the only decoration in the room as aside from a dusty crucifix.

She stood back and watched him. Her twitching finger gave away the fact that she was nervous. He turned away from the designs and took a step toward her. She took a step back.

"Returned, safe and intact as promised." He said.

A shy smile tugged at her lips. "It was an unexpectedly pleasant evening. Thank you."

She wasn't tempted and she wasn't impressed, but she was definitely interested. He bowed slightly and was about to take himself off when she spoke again.

"King of Hell?" The title had been something of an infernal royal elephant in the room all night.

He stepped a little closer. This time she didn't back away. "Sorry? Was that a question, pet?"

She met his eyes and held them. "I only wanted to be sure I heard you right."

A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "King of Hell."

She smiled shyly and he could practically feel the pounding of her heart in the small room. "Maybe, you could tell me more about that." Her eyes met his. "If we meet again, that is."

He grinned, took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. "When we meet again, ask me." All night long the idea of what her skin would taste like fluttered around the edges of his consciousness. It was better than he had imagined. He disappeared with his fingers still in contact with her skin.

It was all Sara could do not to moan when his lips touched her wrist, she couldn't control the fact that she gripped his hand a little more tightly. Those hazel eyes looked at her from under his heavy brows. She could see amusement there and…and something else as he disappeared. She wasn't sure what that something else could be. He couldn't have been as affected by the touch as she was.

In the scheme of Sara's feelings, it didn't matter if he felt the same way. The feeling of his lips and his fingers still lingered, still made her breath catch in the back of her throat and heat radiating from her hand. The fact that he probably didn't feel it didn't help Sara get to sleep that night either.

Maybe this was what it felt like to have a crush. Sara wondered why she couldn't just have a crush on someone normal. The clean-cut handsome literature professor that had all of her friends' hearts fluttering. The brooding and muscular gardener that wore dirt and sweat like some men wore Armani. Any one of a hundred church-approved boys from St. Aloysious. All of them were prime targets for fantasy, but oh no. Sara had to go and get a crush on the King of Hell. The whole thing sounded perfectly ridiculous.

"No point in doing things by halves." Sara said, turning over in bed again, deciding that she would get over it. Not like she would ever see him again.

Crowley stood on the balcony at the Burlington Royal drinking in the cool early morning air. Her scent lingered in the room, teasing him from the chair where she'd sat with her feet drawn up under her.

She wasn't impressed with any of it. She wasn't tempted and she wasn't impressed, but she could bloody well _see_. The places where other people stopped were her starting point and from there she saw the connecting threads. Half of his demons couldn't do that and this girl, who only moments before could barely breathe for the shock, could calmly connect a coat and a painting and from there see the big picture.

Just remembering the way she looked in that moment set the human blood in his veins alight with something he couldn't name. It wasn't need. It wasn't yearning or sentimentality or anything else the blood had done to him in the past. Maybe it was all of those things wrapped around each other and tied in knots and rebraided in new and complex patterns.

He had felt it when she was there, but now it was worse. It was the absence of her. Or the absence of something about her. The question of her humanity tugged at his consciousness again. Her soul burned with a brighter intensity, but every human soul was a unique creation. Or his addiction had clouded his judgement.

"Your Majesty?" The hesitant voice came from behind him. He didn't bother answering.

"Your Majesty?" The voice spoke again. This time there was a tremor of uncertainty there. Crowley turned his head just slightly but not enough to see the speaker.

"I don't wish to disturb your Majesty-"

"Then don't." Crowley said. He didn't turn around. There was a long pause, but he knew the speaker was still hovering. "You're still there." Crowley said in a sing-song voice. His underlings knew that when the King was smiling and playful he was at his most dangerous.

"You wished to see this month's projections." The voice was laced with poorly concealed fear.

Crowley sighed. "Make it quick." He held out his hand and the obsequious little accountant put an iPad into it.

He flicked his eyes over the figures without really seeing them.

"Increase it by two percent." He held the tablet out. The minor demon didn't take it.

"But your Majesty the month is more than half over and-"

"Three percent."

There was a strangled sounding gasp. But the computer was still in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow. "Care to go for four?"

"No your Majesty! I mean, yes your Majesty." The iPad was finally taken from his hand. "I mean, I'll get right on it your Majesty."

He felt the air ripple as the little accountant disappeared. Crowley followed suit, appearing in his throne room. A demon in a butler's livery greeted him with a small smile and polite nod.

"Anything interesting today?" The king sat on his throne, feeling the boredom settle around him again.

"I couldn't presume to say, Majesty."

Crowley glanced around the Spartan room. "Death warrants?"

The butler-demon pointed to a stack of parchments just waiting for a name at the top and Crowley's signature at the bottom.

"Torture orders?"

The butler pointed to another stack.

"Torture to death warrants?"

The butler indicated a third, much taller stack.

He sighed and straightened his tie. "Send the first one in."


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello all you awesome readers!_

 _I am truly overwhelmed by all your support for this story! I have been having such a good time writing this and I'm just thrilled that other people are enjoying it too. Thank you all for taking the time to review, favorite and follow. I appreciate it more than I can express. :)_

 _If you're getting this as an update again, sorry! Colorful Crayola was good enough to point out that i didn't have my usual section breaks (Thanks so much!). That was a total oversight on my part. I hope this makes the chapter better. :)_

 _psyche b_

4\. Just Curious

Sara sat in the nearly empty church with the nuns and the dozen or so girls who were left at the school. Less than six hours ago she had been chatting with the King of Hell, now she was sitting there listening to Father Gordon's homily about how they should use this quiet time in the summer to contemplate God's plan for them. She tuned out all but the droning of it and let herself get lost in her own thoughts.

It was strange. Until she met Crowley she had never really believed in God. Of course she knew all the words to all the prayers. She knew how to fake her way through a confession, how to relish the time after communion to think without interruption and how to quietly tune out while appearing to be deep in prayerful contemplation. Sara knew how to _do_ religion. Belief was another matter entirely.

The benevolent, ever-present father who was always willing to forgive was an appealing story. It meant that one didn't have to suffer any trial alone. That bad things could be explained as tests to be overcome in the right way and that good things were gifts and miracles. The fact that both were doled out on roughly the same schedule as a slot machine went conveniently unnoticed. Sara still didn't think any of that was true, but every coin had two sides. She was certain about the existence of demons. She'd had a late dinner with one. After that it made sense that God had to exist to balance things out.

Sara was sure that God wasn't the ubiquitous being that her years of religious instruction had implied. She caressed the heel of her hand, the one that Crowley had traced just a few hours before. The sensation of his touch still lingered, making the absence of God all the more palpable. Though it did leave the options more open than they had been a scant twelve hours before.

She looked at the statue of St. Augustin in the alcove to the left of the altar, one hand raised in silent benediction. Saints? Sara doubted it. They made impossible virtue seem possible. Without those models logic would have too easily prevailed. She glanced at the window with the guardian angel. Angels seemed more plausible, though she doubted they were like the one in the window. Where that doubt came from Sara couldn't say.

The doubt ended her musings and Father Gordon showed no signs of being finished.

Whispers slid over and around each other as they always did when her mind was unoccupied. It was always slightly different, but today it was a sound akin to furtive conversations and the hiss and click of wooden knitting needles wielded in experienced hands. Perhaps her hours in the company of the King of Hell had emboldened her. Sara began to sort through the impressions in a way she hadn't considered doing before. Sara was just beginning to look for a way to unravel the sinuous threads when she sensed the change in the group around her.

"Let us rise and profess our faith." Father Gordon said. Her thoughts scattered.

Sara stood with everyone else and recited the words. At that moment she believed in God in the same way that she believed in the rings of Saturn or the craters of the moon. She believed in God's existence, and that was all.

#

After the service, Sara went back to her room and changed. For a moment she looked at her bed, considering the benefits of a nap. She sighed. Napping now meant that she would get to the library late and that would draw attention. She picked up the list of ten saints she'd been assigned to study for the summer. Sara had never heard of any of them, but that didn't matter. She was sure that they were all people born to wealth who decided to give up the comforts of the world and enter religious life. At least that had been the theme every previous summer. There was no reason that this year would be any different. Sara put her phone in her pocket and picked up her keys, making sure that the brand new library key was on it. She grabbed a pen and notebook and took several post-it notes off the stack and stuck them to the inside cover of the notebook.

During the summer the library hours were limited. If there were any girls left in the college they were issued keys along with their lists of the saints. Of course it also came with a lecture about responsibility and how much trust was being placed in them, but that was easy enough to tune out. She had to admit though, for once Sara's actual task had been made easier. She started off across the quad toward a two story brick building that was built in the same plain but pleasing style as the rest of the buildings on campus.

Sister Julia was coming the other way. She smiled and pointed to the list sticking out of Sara's notebook. "Starting your reading?"

"Yes Sister." Sara spoke up so the middle aged nun could hear her.

"Good. Too many of you girls leave things for the last minute. Who's on your list this year?"

Sara handed it over. The nun scanned it and her eyes lit up. "You'll enjoy St. Frances of Rome. She shows us so clearly how the will of God manifests itself in the wishes of our parents." Sister Julia handed the list back.

Sara forced a smile and took the page.

"Remember to put any books you take out on the list on the desk. Title first, then author."

"I will." Sara said.

"And don't spend all day in there. It's far too nice a day to spend it all inside."

"Yes Sister."

The nun continued on her way and so did Sara. She opened the door and stepped into the cool, dim interior of the building. Motion-sensing lights flickered and then came on. At least she was fairly certain that there was no one on the first floor. The pleasant scent of books teased her nose. Sara closed her eyes and inhaled. She glanced at the curving wooden desk and saw a blank sheet of paper on a clipboard. Maybe what Sister Julia had said about procrastination was right.

The spacious first floor held books on history, the sciences and other academic subjects as well as all the novels and poetry that the nuns had deemed appropriate for their sheltered charges. They were better than Ambien. Sara wandered through the shelves, making certain that she was really alone. Once she was sure she started up the wide stairs to the second floor. She waited at the top of the stairs for the lights to flicker and come on.

The second floor was devoted to religious works. It had always bothered Sara. Not so much the contents, those were dull but inoffensive enough. She had always been bothered by the shape. The wide staircase rose from the exact center of the first floor, but on the second floor there was more space on the right side than the left side. For years it had just felt wrong, but Sara didn't have a good reason why.

She had noticed the door last September. The second floor was almost always quiet and Sara had desperately needed quiet that day. She had sat on the floor with her back resting against the end of one of the shelves and tried to concentrate on the intricacies of the trig proofs she'd been struggling with. Even in that silence Sara had been distracted and sines and cosines tumbled from their precarious perches. She'd lifted her eyes and saw the door tucked between the shelves. The words 'Cleaning Supplies' were stenciled on the door in a dark beige tone that was only slightly different than the cream shade of the door and surrounding wall.

Sara had stared at it, suddenly certain why the proportion of the room was wrong. She was also certain that as large as the library was, it didn't need so many cleaning supplies that it required a closet the entire length and a quarter of the width of the building. Sara had glanced over her shoulder and begun working on the lock.

She did the same careful tour of the second floor that she'd made of the first, then she stood and listened. All that came to her ears was the soft buzz of the lighting. Sara made her way to the inconspicuous door and took a pin from her hair. She narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the tumblers clicking into place. A moment later the knob turned and Sara slipped into the long narrow room. The stagnant air was far too warm and Sara wished she had another layer she could take off. She made sure that the door was safely shut before she turned on the light.

The yellowish glow illuminated leatherbound volumes of all shapes and sizes arrayed on utilitarian metal shelves. Most of the spines were unmarked, but a few bore symbols or titles. Some of those titles were in Greek or other tongues that were equally mysterious to Sara. She hadn't been able to explore the shelves as thoroughly as she would have liked, but from what she could tell there was no means of organization. At least not one that she had been able to discern.

On her previous visits to the narrow room Sara had simply been exploring. Now she wanted to know why Hell needed a king and she needed a source that was not a demon, agreement or no agreement.

She located the book where she'd found the summoning spell and started there. She put one of the post-it notes on the shelf where the book went just to be sure that it got back into the same place. Sara sat on the floor and started to read the hand lettered text on heavy pages, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the script and the Latin. It read more like the ravings of a lunatic instead of information. The author rambled about dreams and trials and spells. It couldn't have made less sense if she had pulled it all apart and disarranged all the pages. She decided to read to the end of the section and then take her chances with another source. She turned the page and was struck by the symbol that had been drawn on the middle of the page.

Sara sat up straighter and stared at the pentagram drawn with lines that crossed over and under each other in the style of Celtic knot work. Instead of a plain circle, the star was surrounded by a corona of flames. The author described it as a symbol that, if worn, would protect the wearer from possession by demons. Sara read the passage three times. With trembling fingers she reached inside her tee shirt and pulled out the small gold locket that she'd worn for as long as she could remember. She fumbled with the catch for a moment. Finally she opened the golden oval and found the same symbol inscribed on the left side.

How many times had her mother told her never to take it off? Sara never had, not to shower, not to sleep, never. How many times had she ever bothered to open it? Twice? Even after her parents died she never considered putting a photo inside. She tilted the locket, allowing the weak light to slide over the engraving. It caught the tiny symbols on the other side as well. Sara barely noticed them, her eyes focused on the star, her mind spinning as to why it was there in the first place. Sara held the locket in her hand and read through the rest of the book as quickly as her mind could translate.

Nothing more was written about the symbol or the ones on the other side. The other symbols were different though, Sara could sense that much. She closed the book and put it back on the shelf, making certain to take away her marker. It was too late to try another book today. She had already stayed too long.

She tucked the locket back into her shirt and listened at the door for a moment. She turned off the lights and opened the door just a crack. She found the second floor to be in darkness as well. Sara closed the door hastily and found a couple of books to start her actual research. She wrote them on the list on the desk and went back to her room.

Crowley would know about all of the symbols. The thought was a winged certainty that fluttered against the back of her mind. As soon as it occurred she brushed it away. Crowley was the very last person she was going to talk to about any of this.

#

For three days Sara made her daily trips to the library and all she had to show for it were a few fleeting references about Lucifer being caged in Hell. Her mind conjured the scene from Silence of the Lambs where the infamous Dr. Lecter stood poised and glib in a tiny cell of rough black stone fronted by modern steel and plexiglass. She pushed the image aside. Whatever 'cage' the books were talking about it couldn't be so literal. Still, if Lucifer were isolated – whatever that actually meant – then it made sense that someone had to be in charge. No place ran itself.

The star symbol seemed to be everywhere in her reading, but no source was more specifics than what she found the first day. She wasn't entirely sure that it worked but the locket had been a part of her life for so long that it didn't much matter what was inside. It was one of the few tangible connections to her parents and Sara couldn't imagine being without it.

Of course, summer days in the mountains were far too few and far too precious to waste entirely on study. Sara always spent the late afternoons in the woods, either exploring the trails around the campus or reading in the shady clearing she'd found three years ago. Well, she started by reading. Her mind always drifted to Crowley.

It had been a little less than a week, she told herself firmly as the words of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo jumbled and ran together for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. It was ridiculous anyway. He had no reason to waste his time with her. He spent his time making deals with CEOs and goodness only knew what all else and what did she do? Sit in the woods reading books that would be frowned upon on campus? Sew? Sing in the church choir? Those things should make her a never ending source of fascination to a being like him.

Still, he did seem to be enjoying himself the other night.

But all the books said what accomplished liars demons were. She couldn't trust her own impressions.

Sara turned off the kindle and put it back into her small backpack along with her empty water bottle. Ridiculous. If he had wanted to see her again, he would have given her his phone number or an e-mail address or something. If this was infatuation, Sara was over it.

#

Sara started awake. For a moment she wasn't sure what had awakened her. Then she heard her phone playing Lady Gaga's Pokerface. That was Leah's ringtone!

She stumbled out of bed and grabbed the phone, pulling it off the charging cord. "Hello? Leah? Is that you?"

A laugh came from the other end of the line. Music throbbed in the background. "Course it's me! Who else would be calling you from my number?"

Relief was, for a moment, was eclipsed by anger. "Well, how should I know? You disappeared in the middle of the night, not a word to say where you were going. I've left a million messages and you haven't returned a single one. For all I knew you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"Sorry mom." She laughed again. "I'm fine! In fact, I'm better than fine."

Sara glanced at the time. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning. "Where are you?"

"Las Vegas!" The excitement in Leah's voice was palpable.

"Las- What are you doing there?"

"I am the lead dancer in the Hooray for Hollywood musical revue." The pride in Leah's voice was obvious.

Sara was silent for a moment. "You're dancing naked, aren't you?"

"Not naked." Leah laughed. "I wear a thong, and this gorgeous headdress with sequins and feathers."

Sara rubbed her eyes in frustration. "Really? This is what you sold your soul for?"

"This was just the start, although I have been told I have the best pair of tits in Vegas."

She decided to leave the latter part of the comment alone. "A start? And where do you think you'll go from dancing all but naked in Las Vegas?" Sara wasn't even trying to control her tone.

"HBO." Leah's tone was perfectly matter of fact.

"What?" Sara got turned the lights on, trying desperately to wake up and assemble all this at the same time.

"HBO is doing this series about Las Vegas showgirls. I met the producer and I am the centerpiece of the show! I told you I was going to be famous!"

Sara was shocked to silence. It was exactly something Leah would do, but that didn't mean it was any easier to know what to say. "Are you sure of all this? I mean, is this guy for real?"

"I signed the contracts tonight."

Sara sighed. "Why didn't you call me before this? I was worried sick about you."

The music faded. "I know. I just wanted to make sure that everything was set first."

"Set or not it doesn't matter. You're my friend. I was afraid you were dead."

"I've got ten years, and I intend to make the most of them." Leah said. The conviction clear in her voice.

"I just miss you. Things have been so dull around here without you."

"I miss you too. I figured you knew I was okay and then when Jubal came to see me-"

"Jubal?" Sara sat up a little straighter. "The…one you made the deal with?"

"Yeah." She could hear the smile in Leah's voice. "You must have friends in high places."

Sara blushed and was glad Leah couldn't see it. "I don't know what you mean."

"Uh huh, that's why Jubal showed up here telling me I had to call you and tell you I was okay."

"I suppose that green suit of his blends right in out in Las Vegas." Sara wanted desperately to change the subject.

"I guess. He didn't wear it long."

It took Sara a moment to realize what she was saying. Then her eyes opened wide. "Leah, you didn't!"

"Are you kidding? Of course I did! I dreamed about that kiss for weeks and then there he was, standing right in front of me. I'm only human."

"And?" As soon as the word was out Sara knew it sounded too eager.

"And what?" Leah asked.

"You're really going to make me ask?"

"Well, I don't know what you want to know." It was her innocent act. "A general outline? Physical statistics? A moment by moment account?"

"Leah!" Sara's wrist tingled. "I just meant did the rest live up to the kiss?"

"Gosh yes." Leah laughed and so did Sara. Then she went silent for a moment. "Do you think it's weird? What I'm doing?"

Sara found that question impossibly broad. She stuck to generalities. "Well, it's not for me, but you know I'd never judge you. I just wanted to know you were okay. Speaking of which, you need to call your parents, too."

"No. Absolutely not." Leah's voice was firm.

"They're beside themselves!" Sara was starting to get angry again.

"So what? If they wanted me to tell them things, maybe they shouldn't treat everything like a capital offense." Leah sighed. "Besides, if they find me, they'll just drag me home again."

"They can't." Sara said. "You're twenty years old. The police say-"

"You called the police?" Leah was shocked.

"No, your father and Sister Roberta talked to them. When you left you took most of your stuff so the police said there's no reason to think you're in any danger and you're legally an adult. They took a report, but they're not looking. Adults have the right to walk away from their lives if they want to."

She gave a derisive laugh. "Bet that went over big with my father."

"I'm sure it didn't, and it hasn't stopped him from calling and giving me the third degree."

"You can't tell him where I am!"

"And you expect that no one he knows will watch HBO?"

"They're not going to give my address!"

"Neither am I, but I am going to tell them you're alive. They deserve that much."

"What if they come out here?" She sounded like a naughty little girl who might be caught.

"This whole thing has been your choice. You have to be able to own it." Sara let the silence linger for a moment. "So are there other girls in this show?"

"Almost a hundred, but I'm not telling you any more about that until you tell me all about Jubal's boss."

The question wasn't unusual. It was the same thing Sara had asked Leah at least twice a week about some guy or other. It was asked in the same conspiratorial tone and with the same underpinnings of giggles and wide eyes, but Sara heard something else there too. She couldn't define it, but it brought an itch of discomfort to the back of her skull. "I don't know anything about him really." It was the truth.

"Come on Sara, you talk to someone for five minutes and know all about them. You spent more time than that with him." There was an eager note there.

Sara narrowed her eyes. "If you recall I was more concerned about you that night."

Leah laughed. "I wasn't talking about then. C'mon, I tell you about all my guys."

"He's not my guy. Why are you so insistent?" Sara blushed deep crimson.

"Insistent? I'm not insistent, I'm just curious." The words came out so fast they tumbled over each other.

Sara took a deep breath. "I don't know anything about him Leah. You can ask all night, I don't have anything to add to that statement." She was silent for a moment. "Tell me about the other girls? Please?"

She forced a laugh. "They're all a bunch of back-stabbing bitches."

Sara sat back and listened to Leah talk about squabbles and jealousies and all the dirty tricks that went on behind the scenes. Frankly, it sounded a lot more interesting than the show itself. Sara made certain ooh and ahh and giggle at all the right times, but she couldn't help but wonder if all of this had been a test. What exactly would Crowley be testing though? She truly didn't feel like she knew any more about him now than she did after that one meeting at the bar. Maybe it wasn't him at all. Jubal was a demon too, but what could he possibly want?

Half an hour later she wasn't any closer to untangling the whole thing than she was in the beginning. Maybe it wasn't a mess to be untangled. Maybe it as simply a question from her friend and she was putting too much emphasis on it.

When she hung up Sara was relieved, but more confused than ever. She had to admit though, this had been the most interesting few weeks she could remember since coming to St. Augustin's. Sara drifted off to sleep again, a little smile on her lips.

#

"Nothing." Crowley was staring at the demon in front of him trying to remain calm. "You're telling me that I generously gave you three days to get me a little information about a school and you've done sod all?"

Regis shifted on his feet. "I didn't say that. I've looked everywhere I can think of. There is nothing to find. They don't even have a website to advertise the place."

Crowley stared at him across his wide, highly polished desk. Regis wasn't particularly loyal to anyone except himself, but he knew not only on which side his bread was buttered, but who provided him with the aforementioned butter. "Regis, we're talking about the Catholics. During the Inquisition if one of the heretics wet himself they wrote it down. You cannot tell me that there is no record of a murder of nuns, a church and an entire campus full of schoolgirls filled with raging hormones yearning to break free!"

"I know it sounds ridiculous. I can't find record of the school. I can't find record of the church. I don't even know what order the nuns belong to. There is no listing in the phone book. The place isn't in any directory of private schools, parochial schools, Catholic schools or boarding schools. Likewise with any directories of colleges. I don't see it on aerial photos of the area. I can't even find building plans. I'm stumped."

Crowley could see the frustration in the other demon. He held up his glass of scotch, turning it so that the amber liquid caught the light. The idea that it would have been as simple as a little research was, in retrospect, unlikely. He took a sip of the drink and held it on his tongue, letting the flavors sparkle and burn and change before he swallowed it.

This called for further investigation and he knew just where to start. Crowley looked up at the uncomfortably waiting Regis. "Get out."

The demon disappeared before the king could change his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi Awesome Readers!_

 _I'm so glad you are all enjoying the direction of the story so far. This next chapter was getting very long, so I decided to break it kind of in the middle. I love your reviews and I love reading all your theories. Maybe this chapter will scatter a few more breadcrumbs? :)_

 _For those who aren't familiar with the play, the Lady Bracknell paraphrase is from "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde._

 _Enjoy!_

 _psyche b_

 **5\. A Little Night Music**

Sara watched the clock tick slowly toward five o'clock. This was the sixth of these bible study/future planning sessions that she had attended in the month since the end of school. They were mandatory and always mind-numbing. Today's session was even worse. Summer heat had settled like a blanket over the mountains and the eleven girls and two nuns were stuck in a classroom on the second floor on the sunny side of the high school building. The room had started out too warm, but two hours before, Sister Maureen decided that having the windows open was too distracting to the younger girls. Since then, they had been slowly sweltering. Sara couldn't wait to get back to the dorm and a cool shower. For now, fanning herself with her notebook would have to do.

For most of the day's session they had been split into two groups. Sara was in the sixteen and over group with four other girls. Erika and Martha, the girls from her dorm who had made the decision to join the convent. Monica and Jen were both still in high school and far too boy crazy to be thinking about a life of celibacy. It didn't matter what anyone else happened to be thinking. Erika had been pontificating for last half hour about her great struggle to understand what God wanted for her.

Monica was staring out the window longingly. Jen was doodling hearts in her notebook. Even Sister Helen was struggling to look interested. The only one whose attention was fully held was Martha.

"I finally came to the realization that it's not about what I want," Erika said. "Sure being a nun will be a sacrifice, but doing the right thing is never easy." She looked at Sara down her too-sharp nose. "Some people are so resistant to that idea."

Sara kept up her fanning and ignored her.

"You've been quiet this afternoon Sara." Sister Helen said.

"I don't have anything to say." Sara answered.

Erika rolled her eyes. Martha shook her head, her blond curls frizzy from the heat and humidity.

"Sara, the purpose of these sessions is to help you think about your future." Sister Helen said.

"I know." Sara told herself to keep it neutral or she would be stuck in this hot room even longer.

Sister Helen smiled. Her steel-rimmed glasses were far too severe for her pretty features. "Any thoughts?"

"I really don't have anything to share." Sara repeated.

"Well you must have thought about it." Martha insisted, a touch of Atlanta adding length and emphasis to her words.

"I have."

"Well then," Sister Helen smiled. "I'm sure we're all anxious to know what you've been considering."

Sara looked directly at the nun. "I don't want to share."

"Selfish." Erika whispered loudly to Martha.

Again, Sara bit her tongue. "It's late and I don't think anyone wants to sit here and listen to me-"

"Of course we do!" Sister Helen said. "The girls wouldn't mind spending an extra minute or two."

Sara took a deep breath. "Fine. You present the future as a choice between marriage and family with someone from St. Al's or religious life. I don't want either of those things."

"Really?" Jen looked up from her doodles.

The nun's eyes went wide. "Sara, I don't think-"

"You wouldn't want me to lie, would you Sister?" Sara asked.

The nun's hands fluttered nervously on the desktop. "Well no, but-"

Sara shrugged. "I told you I preferred not to talk about it but you kept asking, so I'll tell you. I don't have a religious vocation. I don't want to have children and unless St. Al's get some seriously interesting new students in the next few years I'm not interested in anyone there. I'll graduate and when I have access to my trust I'll find a different school where I can study design."

"On your own?" Monica's eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

"That's completely ridiculous!" Erika said.

"Have you found a school yet?" Jen asked.

"I think that's enough for today girls." Sister Helen stood up quickly. "Remember, it's games night. We'll meet in the dining hall at eight."

The younger girls had already been dismissed. The other four headed for the door and some fresh air. Sara tried to follow, but Sister Helen put her hand on Sara's arm.

"Sara wait."

She shrugged away from the nun's grip. "Sister, it's a hundred degrees in this room. If I don't get some air I'm going to pass out."

"Then I'll walk with you."

She was silent until she got outside. "I told you I didn't have anything to say." Sara said. Shivering a little at the cool breeze chased over the back of her neck.

"I know you did, but you can't really mean what you said."

Sara stopped and turned to the nun. "Why not? Plenty of girls graduate from here and go on to other schools or to have careers. Why should I be any different?"

Sister Helen paused. "Your parents chose this school for a reason."

"Oh?" Sara looked curiously at the other woman. "Just what was that reason?"

The nun looked flustered. "I'm sure you would know that better than I would."

"You would think so, but they never told me. So until someone can explain to me why I'm so different I'm making my own plans." Sara started walking again.

The nun followed, searching for something to say. "It's not exactly the same though, is it?"

Sara started walking faster. "How did Lady Bracknell put it? Because losing both of one's parents looks too much like carelessness?"

"That's not what I mean." The nun's cheeks were flushed pink.

"That's certainly what it looks like. These little 'sharing sessions' only happen when the others have gone home. To their parents."

Sister Helen's mouth was open for a moment. Then she closed it. "Please come to games night." She tried to smile. "Rack up a few more Scrabble wins?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh Sara, I really think you're spending too much time alone."

"I won't be alone. The Graton Sinfonietta is giving one of their outdoor concerts tonight. I'll be surrounded by people." Sara walked up the steps to her dorm.

Sister Helen paused at the bottom. "Don't be too late. You know Sister Julia worries when you girls are off campus."

Sara nodded and went inside.

#

Sara wasn't sure how long she spent in the shower, but when she got out her mind wasn't any more settled than it was when she went in. This was one of those times when she wished she could talk to Leah. Sure, there were a few other friends she could call, but none of them were as versed in rebellion as Leah was. She wrapped her robe around herself and picked up her phone, fully intending to dial Leah. There was already a text waiting for her.

"Hot times tonight!" A photo of a man in purple suit with a wide pink and purple striped tie was attached.

"Well, that's just wonderful," Sara said. "My best friend, the Las Vegas showgirl, is hooking up with a demon who has criminally atrocious taste in clothes. Only me."

Of course that made her think of a certain well-dressed demon.

A demon with a great voice.

A well-dressed demon with a great voice that had a way of touching her- Sara rubbed at the heel of her hand and tossed the phone onto the bed.

There was no use going down that path. That certain demon, whose name would not be mentioned, had made it quite clear by his silence that he wasn't interested. And why would he be? She wasn't selling what he was looking to buy. What else could he want?

She opened her closet door and stared. The concert was outdoors and definitely informal. Jeans and a t-shirt would have been fine.

Sara wasn't in a jeans and t-shirt mood. She pulled out a sleeveless cotton dress with a full skirt and fitted bodice. The aqua fabric was patterned with bold pink roses. A slightly gathered lace border attached underneath hem fell to several inches below it, adding a little extra movement when she walked. Wearing it always made her feel confident and pretty.

Exactly what she needed.

#

Sara sat in a canvas lawn chair in Lakeside Park, a wide sunhat sheltering her face from the worst of the early evening sun. A cool breeze teased the back of her neck and her bare arms. After so many hours in the stuffy room, the comfortable evening was a slice of paradise. Her kindle was in her bag, but Sara knew she wouldn't be able to focus. Her mind was still turning over her conversation with Sister Helen. No matter what path her thoughts scurried down, they always came back to the same place; the nun knew more than what she was saying. Sister Helen was the youngest of all the nuns at the school. Whatever was going on at the school, if Sister Helen knew they all knew.

A tingling itch built in the heel of Sara's hand. She rubbed at it absently.

Sara was good at ferreting out information, but she needed a starting point. Maybe after the concert she would be focused enough to come up with one.

#

It turned out that the ridiculous friend had her uses after all. An evening of what he presumed was average sex with Jubal and she had given up Sara's last name. He had thought that from there it would be an easy matter to do a bit of research. After exhausting his resources, he'd come up with her mobile number and exactly nothing else. Hardly surprising considering the context.

At least he had managed to resolve the little problem of finding her. She'd left several mahogany hairs in the suite. Tracking spells could be bloody inconvenient, but they would do until he could make other arrangements.

Now he stood on the pavement next to LaCombe's Antiques and looked down into the small lakeside park tucked in between two buildings on Graton's main street. People were milling around, spreading out blankets, unwrapping picnics, setting up lawn chairs all facing a band pavilion. She was just about the only person not moving. The sunhat sheltered her face, but he could see the tension in her shoulders and her hands fluttered from her lap to the arms of the chair she was sitting in.

He took out his phone and dialed. It began to ring, but she didn't move at first. For a moment she wondered if she hadn't brought it along. Finally she reached into her bag.

"Hello?" She sounded guarded.

Crowley smiled a little. "Hello Pet."

There was a long silence and he saw her sit up a little straighter. "H-hi." Most of the guarded tone had been replaced with uncertainty.

"That's not a very warm greeting. A lesser man might be discouraged."

"It's been three weeks. I'm a little surprised to hear from you at all. How did you get this number?"

"Well-"

"Let me guess, Leah." She sat back in the chair. The tension in her shoulders shifted, but didn't ease.

He smiled a little. "She was a part of it." He leaned against the brick building. "You look lovely this evening, by the way."

She shook her head a little. "I could be wearing a patched flannel bathrobe and half bald bunny slippers for all you know." He could hear the little smile in her voice.

"You could, but that would be what is commonly called a lie." He smiled a little. "Such a naughty girl."

She started to look around. He stepped into the shelter of the storefront. "I don't know what-"

"I know, I know, it's an ugly little word and I generally tend to avoid it but I'm afraid it happens to apply in this situation." He was silent just long enough to hear her start to take a breath. "And for my own peace of mind, please, tell me you don't actually own either of the garments you just mentioned."

She laughed and he was certain that he could feel her silky skin under his fingertips again. "Normally I would tell you that I'm not going to discuss my night attire with someone I barely know. But since I wouldn't want to upset the balance of your mind, I will say that no, I don't own either of those things. But that still doesn't mean that you know how I look at this moment."

Crowley was silent for a moment, his eyes closed picturing her in his vivid imagination. "You're wearing an aqua dress that fits you so well it must be tailored. It's sleeveless, but the neckline and hemline are both teasingly modest. The pattern of the fabric is bolder than I expected you to choose, but it suits you. The hat is another unexpected touch. It adds a dash of Audrey Hepburn that is really quite delicious." He picked up a folding chair and walked down the steps into the park, taking care to stay intermingled with a clucking band of old hens. "Shall I go on?"

"What? Where are you?" She was looking around.

"Some sort of outdoor event. Know of any open seats?"

She turned toward the sound of his voice, her cheeks blooming as pink as the roses on her dress.

#

Sara's heart had leapt when she first recognized his voice, now that he was standing there she was sure he could hear it pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath and took the phone down from her ear. She deliberately looked at the screen and ended the call before looking up at that those slightly amused eyes.

Sara couldn't suppress a little smile. "You do like to make an entrance."

"One has to rely on one's strengths." He indicated the open space next to her. "May I?"

She nodded. "Please."

Sara watched him set up the most luxuriously padded high-backed quad chair she had ever seen. He unbuttoned his jacket, sat down, arranged his cuffs, crossed his legs, picked a bit of dandelion fluff off of his immaculate black trousers and then turned to Sara. "Tell me we're not waiting for a brass band."

She smiled a little. "No."

"A high school band?"

"No."

A look of horror crossed his face. "A middle school band?"

"No."

He was silent for a moment. "A polka band?"

She laughed. "Do I seriously look like a polka band kind of person?"

His eyes traveled slowly from her toes to the top of her head and then back again. By the time his eyes were back on hers, Sara was fighting not to squirm. A downright lascivious little smile was tugging at his lips. "Perhaps not. If I had a closer look I might be able to make a better determination."

Sara held his eyes, even though her face was growing warmer by the minute. "Would you like to keep guessing or do you want me to just tell you what we're waiting for?"

He thought for a moment. "Was I close?"

"Well, you're right in that I am not a polka band kind of person." Sara told herself she needed to look away. If she didn't she'd end up lost in those limitless eyes.

"Tell me." His voice was soft, commanding.

"We're waiting for the Graton Sinfonietta. Tonight is Mozart by the Lake."

A little smile. "Are they any good?"

She forced herself to turn back toward the pavilion. "Well, better than a high school band." Sara took a deep breath and pretended to be interested in watching the musicians beginning to file in and set up their music. For several long moments they sat in silence. Finally, Sara could feel his eyes on her. She resisted the urge to bite her lip or to grip the chair arm. None of that will power kept her heart from pounding or helped the blush fade from her cheeks.

"No, 'I missed you Crowley'?"

She looked over at him and shrugged with one shoulder. "It's been three weeks. Leah finally called and thank you for that, but-"

The corners of his lips twitched into a little smile. "How do you know I had anything to do with it?"

Sara smiled and looked at the phone in her lap. "Leah isn't exactly stoic. Jubal told her to call, said it came from you and she told me when she called." She looked up at him again. "Then I didn't hear from you and even though I'm not as, shall we say, social as Leah but that kind of silence usually means 'One evening of your company is my limit'." She shrugged. "I'm used to it. So when I didn't hear from you I didn't question it."

He studied her, the smirk gone from his features for a moment. "Do you have any idea how difficult you are to find?"

She was taken aback by the question. "Well, no. I thought you got my contact information from Leah."

"I got your name. I thought the rest would be easy to find. How do you manage to operate in the twenty-first century without an e-mail address?"

"I have an e-mail address and a facebook account," The realization hit her. "And none of it tracks back to my real name." She dipped her head, letting the wide brim of the hat shelter her face for a moment while she cursed her stupidity. She looked up at him again. "Sorry."

The music started with the first movement of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and for a moment they both looked toward the pavilion.

"You're going to have dinner with me tonight."

She looked at him, her eyes on his. "I will not."

Shock flickered over his features. "Excuse me?"

Sara looked around at the crowd. She forced herself to keep her voice down. "I am not under contract to you or anyone else. You're not just going to show up here after almost a month and give me orders. If you want me to have dinner with you, you ask me."

He studied her for a long moment. His eyes sparkled with amusement and something else Sara couldn't name. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Sara lowered her eyes for a moment. "In town?"

"Yes."

She looked up at him again. "Well then, I guess it depends."

"On?" His eyes were still sparkling.

"If you already have a reservation. Concert night is big here. Every place that's half decent is full and the ones that aren't are mobbed anyway because no one can get into anyplace half decent."

"Give me ten minutes." He said.

She reached out and then drew her hand back before her fingertips made contact with his jacket. "No contracts, no wishes, nothing that any other ordinary person couldn't do."

His eyes narrowed and she felt his appraisal. "Why?"

Sara looked down at her hands for a long moment before looking up at him again. "I found that crossroads spell. Even if Leah had known where to look she wouldn't have been able to translate it correctly. I even drove her there-"

"Pet-"

"I know it was ultimately her choice." She shrugged. "This is a nice little town. I don't want to be responsible for setting any of them on the road to perdition."

He thought about that for a moment. "Agreed. Fifteen minutes." He stood and walked away from the crowd, his phone to his ear.

Sara sat back in her chair and wondered where all that bravado came from. She had just given orders to the King of Hell and she didn't even blink. No wonder Leah said she scared men. Still, this wasn't a date. How could he have any interest her? Well, other than the soul thing. That had to be what he wanted, but why expend so much energy to get it? It was an ordinary soul.

Her finger drifted to the small gold locket under the fabric of her dress and thought about the myriad of symbols etched there while her eyes swept over the crowd. It occurred to Sara that she only people she really knew were the other girls at the school. It was an unusual life by any standard. Sheltered. Hidden. Every normal thing like e-mail addresses and facebook accounts were secrets that had been so well-kept that she'd forgotten she was keeping them.

One finger made slow circuits around the edges of the oval. An ordinary soul buried in a mountain of secrets and fenced in by lies.

She looked at the middle-aged couple in front of her and to the young family in front of them and wondered if there were as many secrets under those relaxed exteriors.

#

The reservation was a simple matter, even with the conditions she put on it. When it came to the roots of evil money was only in to top three, but it was arguably the most universally useful.

Crowley studied the set of her shoulders and the angle of her head. There was power in that stillness. Power she didn't realize she had. Well, not consciously. When she looked directly into his eyes and told him – told _him_ – that she wasn't going to take orders, she felt it too. Truth be told, so did he. That unflinching gaze and simple refusal sent a rush of tickling pleasure to his nether regions. Spontaneously. That was a rare thing these days.

Oh he fucked. Often. The reasons ranged from stress relief to a reminder that the king had certain rights that he would exercise whenever the mood struck him and he always enjoyed himself. The same couldn't always be said for his partners but they were only outlets. None of them were his equal and if any of them had so much as hesitated when he gave an order he would have made them suffer. This enigmatic human girl - who wasn't impressed, wasn't tempted and wasn't afraid - just might be.

He doubted it, but it was an interesting idea. Isn't that what he had been looking for all along? She would prove that she was less than she seemed and he would lose interest. Of course, that day was not today. Crowley tucked his mobile back into his inside jacket pocket and made his way along the edge of the crowd.

#

Almost exactly fifteen minutes later, Crowley settled himself into his chair again. Sara was tempted to ask, but she forced herself to stay silent. Bright notes of a violin concerto chased through the crowd. He leaned over to her. "Have you heard of The Terraces?"

Sara turned a little. "Of course, it's supposed to be really good but a night like this-."

"I have a reservation for two at nine-thirty. Will you be joining me?" One eyebrow slightly.

Sara felt heat rise to her cheeks. She looked down at her hands and then back up at him. "I have one question."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think my patience is limitless?"

The note of danger was not lost on Sara, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. "I'm just curious if our agreement about questions and honest answers is still in place."

He smiled a little. "Still don't trust me?"

She couldn't suppress a little smile. "No, and that isn't an answer."

"Smart girl. Yes, it's still in place."

"Then yes, I will be joining you. Thank you."

"Good." He turned back toward the pavilion. So did Sara.

The quiet that grew between them was strangely comfortable. Sara was used to silence, but most of the people she spent time with found silence awkward. It was a relief to be in the company of someone else who was able to just be quiet. It struck her that for the first time in days she didn't feel alone in a crowd.

Sara closed her eyes and felt some of the tension of the day beginning to slip away.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello fabulous readers!_

 _This turned out to be longer than I expected, and to take longer than I had hoped. I hope it was worth the wait and that you all enjoy it. As always, I love to know what you think. Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing and keeping me inspired to write down more of my crazy little ideas._

 _psyche b._

 **6\. Next Time**

Sara had been lucky enough to find a parking space in the small lot directly across from the park. Before they went to the restaurant she put her hat and the folding chair in her trunk. She wrapped her white sweater around her shoulders and crossed back to the lake side of the street. They had time, so they walked slowly.

"So, better than a polka band?" Sara asked.

He chuckled. "Let's just say I didn't find it completely intolerable."

"Only partially intolerable. High praise indeed." She crossed her arms against the chilly breeze off the water.

"Darling if I want Mozart I go to Salzburg." He was silent for a moment. "The company here is far more interesting though."

Sara looked up at him. "Flattery? Really?"

"What? I'm a charming devil." He looked at her, a little smile on his lips. "Did it work?"

She laughed. "Not even a little bit."

"Does your little group ever give concerts indoors?"

She nodded. "They do. Why?"

"If I find myself attending again, for the company you understand, I would prefer not to bring my own seating." He stopped in front of the Adirondack Antique Mall and looked back in the direction they had come. "How many so-called antique stores are there in this town?"

Sara waved her hand dismissively. "I have no idea. They're really for the tourists though. The locals know that if you want anything really nice you go to St. Mary's thrift store."

He started walking again. "You're joking."

"No. People like to support the church so they donate all kinds of things. The woman who runs it is sweet and sincere, but she only thinks of things as functional or not. Whether or not a thing is beautiful or old doesn't really register. If any of the touristy places really knew what they were looking for they'd just go there."

"Is that where you got some of your pieces?"

Sara blushed. "All of the nice ones and I didn't think you'd notice."

"Darling, I notice everything. Especially when I'm trying to get a sense of someone."

She looked up at him. "What did it tell you?"

He studied her for a moment, considering how much to say. "You do have an eye, though I think it's more unconscious than trained and therefore has more scope. You have a sense of style that is unaffected by what expected. And you either have an astounding sense of timing, or you have some inside information. Am I close?" Absolute certainty was on his face.

She shrugged a little, and turned away. "We're required to volunteer a certain number of hours per semester. The thrift store just happened to be on the list of approved venues." Sara couldn't resist the little smile.

"That sounds remarkably mercenary for such a nice Catholic girl."

"What? They put the choice out there. The store gets free labor and I satisfy a requirement. Besides, I always wait until things are priced and on the floor for sale. The church got exactly what it expected to get from the sale." She glanced up at him. "God helps those who help themselves, every nice Catholic girl knows that."

He laughed. "Definitely mercenary. I can respect mercenary." They walked up the two steps to the restaurant. He moved to open the door for her, but paused with her trapped between his body and the closed door. "So what else do good Catholic girls know?"

His proximity and the intensity of his eyes was too much. Sara blushed and lowered her eyes. "I don't know how to answer that question."

He smiled a little. "Your rules darling."

Sara's heart started to flutter in her chest. "Th-the question is too big. I don't even know where to start."

A group of four people came up behind them. Crowley opened the door and Sara walked through. His hand caressed the small of her back. "We have time."

Sara didn't even hear what he said to the hostess. She was too focused on the heat that was radiating from his palm and what the gentle touch was doing to her senses. They were led up four thickly carpeted steps to a dining room that looked more like a large library in a country house, right down to the books on the shelves. Soft lighting gave the illusion that the entire room was lit by glowing candles. Tables were a comfortable distance apart and separated from each other with plants and screens painted with soft Victorian florals. Conversation was a soft hum underneath the Vivaldi that was playing.

The hostess led them through the room to a set of double doors. A sign reading 'Reserved for a private function' hung on the two handles. The way this side of Main Street had been built into the slope of the land meant that they were one story up. She could see the lights of houses nestled into the dark mountains across the lake. The sparkling path of the Milky Way was just becoming visible overhead. She let out the breath that she didn't know she was holding. A soft glow and the sound of soft conversation came from the diners on the terrace below. She heard a set of double doors close softly.

"I didn't even know this existed." Sara's voice was soft.

"Well, I find that if you ask the right questions you learn all sorts of interesting things." His thumb traced slow arcs on her back. His voice was a soft caress that went deeper than her skin. "Besides, I dislike the idea of being casually overheard." He finally took his hand off of her waist and held out her chair.

She sat, hoping that he hadn't seen her knees tremble. He sat across from her. A waiter came out a moment later with menus and a wine list and left them alone again.

"You're not curious?" He didn't lift his eyes from the menu.

She glanced up at his serene features. "I am very curious, but the way I see it there are two options." Sara waited until he looked at her, the candlelight setting off sparks in his eyes. "Either you stuck to the deal and used some ordinary means to set this all up, or you didn't. Since you haven't broken any deals before I'm going to have to assume it's the former."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "But do you trust that it's the former?"

"I don't know if I would say that."

He smiled a little. "Money. Maybe more than most people would have access to for a pleasant evening but still within the bounds of our agreement." He lowered his head again. "If I attempt to order for both of us, will you make me stand in the corner?"

Sara blushed. "No. But how do you know what I like?"

He smiled a little. "I'm a good guesser. Besides, the appetizer is already on the way."

The waiter came back with a plate of six quarter-sized potato pancakes topped with an artistic nest of thinly sliced smoked salmon. Black caviar was inside each little nest. They were arranged in a straight line on a rectangular plate. Crowley ordered filet mignon for both of them and a bottle of wine. After the waiter was gone he took one of the delicate little creations and savored it. He gestured toward the plate. Sara selected one.

"Have you ever had caviar?"

"Once. I spent Christmas with a friend a couple of years ago." She put the single, delectable bite into her mouth. "It was an…interesting party but the food was delicious."

"Interesting how?" His eyes were alight with curiosity.

"Well, my friend's maternal grandmother, a rather generously proportioned woman, arrived slightly drunk wearing this bright pink dress that would have been small on me and proceeded to come onto everything in pants. Her aunt and uncle announced their divorce. Their fifteen year old daughter announced that she was a lesbian and the evening ended in a screaming fight. They had the food set up on a buffet and no one else seemed interested so I stood back and watched and sampled."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Are all of your friends so unusual?"

Sara shrugged a little. "In Stacey's defense, she was mortified. She said they never behaved that way before. I don't think that was true. They seemed too good at it."

The waiter appeared again, this time with a bottle of wine. He poured a bit of the ruby liquid into Crowley's glass. He studied the color in the candlelight, closed his eyes and inhaled the scent. He took a sip and thought for a moment. Finally he nodded at the waiter and he filled both glasses.

"Is there anything else I can bring either of you?"

Sara could feel the young man's eyes linger on her for just a moment. She didn't raise her eyes.

"No." Crowley said, his dismissive tone laced with warning. He waited until the young man retreated again. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. "So, where does a nice Catholic girl learn to summon demons?"

Sara saw the shift in him. The game was on. "The school library. Why does Hell need a king?"

"Why does anyplace need a king?"

"You can't answer a question with a question." Sara's eyes were on his.

"That was never stipulated."

"Honest answers were." She held his gaze.

He studied her for a moment. "Hell is no different than anyplace else, pet. Demons like to say they don't want to be governed, but in the absence of central authority things get very feudal very quickly. Business gets pushed aside in favor infighting and what business is conducted is inconsistent. Customers don't know who they're dealing with and that leads to uncertainty. Word of mouth is everything in my business. Your school library has a large demonology section does it?" He selected another of the caviar appetizers.

"If you know where to look. I don't have any frame of reference for if it's large or small though. I can appreciate the need for a king in general, but what about Lucifer?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Lucifer. The narcissistic brat gets mad at daddy and has a bloody tantrum and the world remembers his name forever!" He drained his glass and poured himself another.

Sara just looked at him, waiting for him to either go on or ask a question. "He's the one who made it into the only source I have." Her voice was soft. "At least the only source I can begin to make sense of."

He studied her for a moment. "What did the others say?"

"Something about a cage, though I have no idea what that could mean in this context. I'm not sure how to phrase that in the form of a question either." Sara took another of the appetizers, hoping her voice hadn't sounded as uncertain to him as it had to her.

He thought for a long moment. "I want to temporarily change the deal."

Sara forced herself not to shift in her chair. "To what?"

"You tell me three things about your school that aren't generally known, and we'll have story time." The sparks were back in his eyes.

She forced herself to count to five. "And then?"

He shrugged. "Our former deal is back in place."

Sara studied him for a moment. Even in the limited time she'd spent with Crowley she knew that he loved to talk, especially about himself or anything remotely related to himself. She took a sip of wine. "You Googled it didn't find anything."

"What makes you think I did that?"

"I'm young and sheltered, but I'm not silly. If you checked me out, you checked out the school." He sat back and watched her. "If you found anything you wouldn't ask me for random facts because they might be things you already know. If you already had some facts you would have asked for some specifics. At least, that's my best guess."

A slow smile spread across his lips. "You are most definitely not silly. Do you agree?"

"Yes." The word was out before Sara had time to consider what she was going to say.

The door opened and the waiter came in carrying a tray. They both fell silent.

"Not interrupting anything am I?" He smiled at Sara and then at Crowley.

"Is that any of your business?" Crowley asked.

The young man's eyes widened, his smile faded. "Well, I-I mean-" His voice trailed off.

"Get out." There was an edge of menace under his words, even though the volume of his voice hadn't changed. "Next time you come out here, you'll knock and wait to be admitted."

"But-"

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

A little color drained from the waiter's face. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes Sir." The waiter backed away and closed the door behind himself.

Sara put her napkin in her lap and surveyed the beef, roasted potatoes and asparagus. "He was only trying to be friendly." She didn't look at him, she just picked up her knife and fork.

"Diplomacy is rarely required in my position."

Sara smiled a little. "More of a rank by assassination organization?" She took a bite of the beef.

He chuckled. "I prefer to think of it as rank by opportunity. So tell me something about your school."

Sara thought for a moment, looking for facts that would satisfy his conditions without revealing too much about herself. "I don't know what to say really." She looked down at her plate. "It's a boarding school. I went to a public school until I was eight but that was so long ago. I know it's weird and I've found a few big things like the no advertising but the rest is so subtle. Half the time I think it's just me being paranoid."

He watched her for a moment. "Go on." His voice was soft.

"It's a small school. A little over half the girls have lost one parent."

"Divorce isn't so unusual, even among the Catholics."

"You're right. But when I say lost I mean dead."

A bite of asparagus paused halfway to his mouth. "Really. Now that is interesting. Where did you get your numbers?"

She looked at him over the rim of her wine glass as she took a sip. "I asked." She set the glass down again.

A little smile crossed his lips. "Of course you did. What else?"

"St. Augustin's and St. Al's aren't just close in proximity, they're connected some other way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning…I don't know really. This is where the paranoid part comes in. You already know that you can't find anything on my school. Did you check out St. Al's?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why would I?"

She gave a little shrug with one shoulder. "You probably wouldn't, but if you did you'd find exactly nothing."

Crowley pulled out his phone and started to type a text. He hit Send and looked up at her. "Is that the only connection?"

"No. If a girl is going to my school and she has brothers, they go to St. Al's. Always St. Al's."

He looked at her as if he was expecting more.

Sara looked back at him. "I told you, it's vague and probably paranoid."

His phone chirped and he looked down at it. His eyebrows rose. "You were right." He looked up at hers. "One more interesting fact and you've earned your story."

"In the last few years, there have been anywhere from one to three college graduates per year have joined the order. From what I'm told that's about average for them. None ever come back to the school even if what they want to do is teach. Of the nuns that are there now, none of them graduated from St. Augustin's."

"You asked?"

"And looked back at yearbooks dating back to the fifties. I'm guessing that means there are other schools like St. Augustin's, but I have no idea where they are or what they might be called. If they're as off the grid as my school I don't even know how to start looking." She smiled a little. "Not that I've tried."

His eyes were filled with curiosity and possibilities. "Of course not. Is there more?"

She smiled a little. "You've had your three facts. I want my story."

"Over dessert." He picked up the bottle of wine and went to fill her glass.

"No, thanks."

He didn't listen, refilling it again. "Darling you've only had half a glass."

She laughed. "I know, but I still have to drive home, probably have a fight with a nun, and definitely have a fight with several nuns in the morning. I need to have a clear head."

"Now, what could you have done to get into so much trouble?" Crowley sat back in his chair and studied Sara. Laugher and music floated up from the lakeside terrace below as the seconds stretched close to a minute and beyond. Sara swore that she wouldn't look away but as time ticked by the weight of his appraisal began to send shivers racing down from the top of her head to her toes. Her heart began to pound and the urge to bite her lip was almost impossible to resist. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "It can't be sloth. Anyone with eyes can see that you're not lazy and anyone who spends more than five minutes with you knows your mind is always moving. True?"

Sara nodded. "True."

"I think you'd be truly outstanding at wrath, but I don't think that's what happened today."

"Why?"

"I'm the King of Hell. You need more of a reason?"

She smiled a little. "Yes."

He chuckled. "We've have a relaxed evening. Rage doesn't dissipate so quickly. Though I may need to revise my position on greed. May I continue?"

Sara nodded.

"Gluttony barely raises an eyebrow anymore, hardly worth such resources. Envy, you're too confident to have any more than a fleeting flash of envy. Greed, well, if I don't have anything you want then how could anyone else?" He leaned forward, a hungry little smile on his lips. "I'm hoping for lust."

Sara felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You forgot pride."

"Pride is hardly a vice when you have something to be proud of. In general it bores me. Lust doesn't."

There was a timid knock on the door.

"Bollocks." Crowley growled under his breath. He lifted his eyes to Sara. "You'd be upset if I killed him, wouldn't you?"

Sara looked at him for a moment. He was absolutely serious. She swallowed hard. "I-I don't think I know you well enough to watch you kill someone."

He shrugged. "Probably right." He turned toward the door. "Come in."

The waiter came out again. "I was just wondering if either of you would like some dessert."

"The chocolate mousse for two and coffee." Crowley said.

"Right away, sir." He cleared their plates and was gone again.

"Do you kill waiters often?" Sara asked.

"Only when they burst in at the wrong time." He looked at the door and then back to her, a little smile teased his lips. "We were talking about lust."

"You were talking about lust, and what I did wasn't one of the big seven."

"If we have to go through all the venial sins we'll be here for the next three months. Confession is a Catholic thing, tell me."

Sara laughed. "Yeah, but then you're hoping to get absolution, not encouragement."

He looked perfectly shocked. He put one well-manicured hand against his chest. "You think that I would attempt to capitalize on a sacred trust?"

"Yes." Sara said.

Crowley chuckled. "You might be right, but only if you've actually sinned." His eyes held hers. "I don't think you have."

Sara looked down at her hands, considering how much to say. The waiter knocked again. Crowley admitted him without the threats of violence. He placed the dessert between them and a pot of coffee on the table. The waiter left again as quickly as he could. Sara studied the dessert. Two comma shapes were nested together to form a circle. The edge where the white chocolate half met the dark chocolate half was artfully swirled and feathered together.

"So, tell me." The voice was soft, tempting. He stroked the handle of his spoon. It would have been so easy to just tell him everything. She reminded herself just who she was talking to.

"I told the truth at an inconvenient moment." Sara sampled a little of the dark chocolate mousse. It sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

"About?" He took a large spoonful of the white chocolate.

Sara shook her head, her eyes on his. "I've shared quite a bit this evening. You promised me a story." Her spoon stroked slowly over the swirled margin between the dark and white. "You do keep your deals, right?"

His spoon approached hers from the opposite direction and for a delicious moment they circled each other while barely touching the dessert.

"Utterly delicious." His voice was a soft and his eyes sparkled, holding hers.

The moment stretched until Sara looked away. She took the bite of dessert from the spoon, trying to tell herself that she couldn't let him affect her that way. It didn't matter. Her heart was still pounding and she was still trying not to stare as his lips when he spoke.

He sat back in his chair. "The first thing you have to understand is that God, everyone's favorite deadbeat daddy, plays favorites. He made the angels first, but they're not the fluffy protectors of lost children like on your church windows."

"What are they like?" Sara asked, fascinated. An insistent whisper teased over her consciousness. She brushed it aside, sure that it came from the terrace below.

He raised an eyebrow. "Who's telling this story?"

"You are, but you asked me questions about the school and I answered." She took a bite of the white chocolate side of the mousse.

Crowley thought for a moment. "They're not much different than demons really. They like to think they are, but they have their own agendas that they pursue in the same way that I pursue mine."

Sara couldn't resist a little smile. "With ruthless charm?"

He chuckled. "Trust me, pet, none of them have even a passing acquaintance with charm, let alone personal style. Except Balthazar. He could be fun at parties. The angels were created to be God's own personal army. Of course, he didn't just want soldiers, he wanted slavish obedience and worship. For quite a while his army of Ken dolls was enough. God had the adulation he wanted and the angels were, well, I don't think they're capable of happiness, but they were content. Then, Daddy noticed you lot." He took a bite of the white chocolate.

Sara licked a bit of dark chocolate off the spoon. As fascinating as the story was, she realized he could be talking about lawn mower maintenance and she would still be as eager to listen.

"You were the naked apes that could and God was completely taken with you. He guided you, helped you, gave you all those delicious souls. The angels could see God becoming more and more infatuated. Perhaps some nurtured their own seeds of discontent, but their programming kept them from acting on all those resentments, for a time. Of course it wasn't just infatuation. God found you all malleable. You worshipped him of your own free will. You subverted your nature to follow all of his arbitrary rules. It gave him all the right tingles in all the fun places. The angels had their uses, but it wasn't the same so he let it be known that you were his favorites." He drew a curving trail from the white chocolate section into the dark chocolate with the tip of his spoon. "Lucifer was already having issues with the family."

"Why?" Sara asked.

"Body art."

"What do you mean by-?"

"Whose story is this?" Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

Sara shook her head. "Sorry, go on."

"That's not an answer to my question." He grinned. "Your rules darling."

Sara blushed. "It's your story. Please go on."

"Well, since you asked so nicely. As I said before, Lucifer was always spoiled, always vain, always favored by daddy. He fought with his brothers, was far too open about his contempt for the new favorite. Personally, I don't think his little display of free will was appreciated by the management. God told him to get out, and Luci did. Of course he wanted his own back, but what would God take personally?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

It took Sara a moment to realize that he was actually asking her a question. She blinked. "Well…I mean…" She thought, searching for anything and finding nothing. "I have no idea."

A glitter of predation flickered through his eyes. "He found one of daddy's precious humans and twisted her soul to create the first demon. He might as well have spit in the old man's eye. Even with all that patience and forgiveness he's reputed to have he couldn't stand for that. He sent the former favorite into a permanent time out, except the naughty chair was in the deepest part of the pit inside a cage." He took a bite of the white chocolate.

Sara studied him. "And that's it? He's just been sitting there all this time?"

Crowley grinned. "That's a story for another time, pet."

#

The sidewalks of Graton were empty when Sara left the restaurant with Crowley. Somewhere in the questions and stories, laughter and challenges, it had gotten to be nearly one in the morning. She couldn't remember the last time she had spent so much time in anyone's company and enjoyed every minute of it for so many different reasons. Sure, most of those reasons were confusing, but it didn't seem to matter right at that moment.

He stopped and leaned back against the railing surrounding the park. "So, where should we go next time?"

Sara smiled a little, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "Why Crowley, are you asking me out?"

He shrugged. "Normally I show up and hearts flutter. It's predictable and boring." He looked at her. "You are not boring."

She smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

He looked over at her. "Is that a yes?"

She leaned forward, bracing against the railing. "It's a maybe. What do you have in mind?" She looked over at him.

"I know of a wonderful little café in Paris."

She laughed. "Crowley-"

"A restaurant overlooking the Colosseum in Rome."

"Crowley-"

He leaned closer. "You'd prefer the thoroughly disreputable little bar I know in the back streets of Prague. You Catholic girls, always naughtier than you first appear. I think it's those little plaid skirts."

She blushed and tried not to think about how close he was to her. "I was thinking of someplace I don't need a passport to get home from if you disappear."

"You still don't trust me." She could feel the caress of his warm breath against her cheek.

Sara smiled a little. "No." She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm even talking about this. I'm probably going to be confined to campus for the rest of the summer."

"That must have been quite a truth."

Sara knew she needed to put some distance between them, but she just couldn't make herself do it. "Half the time for truth, half the time for the fight tomorrow morning."

"They haven't built the convent yet that can keep me out." He put his hand on her waist. "And if I can get in, I can get you out."

Her heart began to pound but before she could say anything he led her across the quiet street. Sara wished she had parked closer to the only light in the parking lot.

They stopped next to her car, Sara found herself trapped between him and cold metal of the car. His hands rested on her waist. "Someplace relatively nearby it is."

"Where?" She asked. The word was a barely form whisper.

He shook his head. "You'll just have to trust me, pet."

Sara was beginning to get her pounding heart under control. "When?"

"No input? No demands?" His thumbs stroked the front of her waist on either side of her navel.

It was all Sara could do not to moan. "You find me demanding?"

"Now that is the first silly question I've heard you ask." He leaned down, his mouth approaching hers.

At that moment Sara was perfectly split between need and panic. She tilted her head, but put her hands flat on his chest. He paused with his mouth barely and inch from hers.

"Something wrong, pet?"

She could feel his warm breath, his hands shifted and pulled her forward. Sara didn't resist. The distance between his lips and hers almost closed.

"This is…unexpected." As she spoke, her lips brushed against his.

"And unwelcome?" The same teasing touches. She wrapped her fingers around his lapels and then let go.

Sara hoped he didn't feel the little shiver that coursed through her. "Not unwelcome, just…too soon."

His fingers stroked down her back, he still hadn't closed the scant distance between them. "When?"

Sara's head was spinning. The soft brushes of his lips on hers was almost too much to take, but she couldn't force herself to break the contact. She leaned into him a little more. "Next time."

He smiled a little. "Are you sure about that, Pet?"

At that moment Sara wasn't sure what planet she was standing on. "Next time." Sara was sure that he would hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"Next time." He stepped back, his hands sliding off of her waist.

Sara found herself barely able to meet his eyes. She turned away and took a step toward the driver's side door.

He caught her hand and Sara looked back at him. "So if I were to pop in about an hour from now, technically that would be next time." A little smirk played at the corners of his lips.

Sara laughed. "No, it wouldn't."

"Can't blame me for trying."

She gripped his hand for a moment. "Thanks Crowley."

He disappeared and Sara got in the car and tried to stop trembling. Next time? What kind of an idiot was she? There might not be a next time.

#

Crowley took a long drink of his scotch, hoping the burn of the alcohol would banish the feeling of her lips fluttering against his. It hadn't worked. Well, the first eight glasses hadn't worked. He hadn't finished this one yet.

The girl might not be impressed, but she was certainly impressive. Her recitation of little-known-facts had told him a bit about the school, a bit about the girl, and a great deal about how her mind worked. She was accustomed to hiding in plain sight. Accustomed to listening. Accustomed to drawing her own conclusions and waiting to see those conclusions validated. Where she had learned to play the long game, now that was fascinating.

The fact that the mind came wrapped in a pretty little package that also wasn't tempted and wasn't afraid, well, that was a rather delicious bonus.

He felt the flutter of those soft lips again. From anyone else he would have called all of it simple teasing. Being king had its perks, but it also meant that everyone was working an angle. Men tended to approach their teasing as a business transaction. Women almost invariably used sex. They were practiced and mechanical and he used them as hard and as often as he could. She wasn't teasing. He had felt her tremble. He saw her pupils dilate and when she gripped his lapels-

"Your Majesty?" He looked up at the questioning faces that surrounded him in the throne room.

One of the demons wore a rumpled gray suit and a creased maroon tie that was badly knotted. He was the supplicant who had just come in to beg his indulgence about…something.

"How long have you been in that queue?" Crowley asked. He held out his now empty glass and someone poured him another.

"I…well I'm not sure exactly…" His voice was brittle sounding.

Crowley looked at the white-haired butler. "Three years, five months and eleven days approximately, Majesty."

"Close to three and a half years and that's the best presentation you could come up with?"

"Well I…I'm not…I thought…" He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure that you heard all of my points-"

"You bore me into a coma and you blame me?"

His eyes widened. "No your majesty, I didn't mean-"

Crowley looked at the servant. "How long is the wait now?"

He studied the ledger for a moment. "If your Majesty continues to see supplicants at the current rate, the wait is five years two months and approximately five days."

"There you are. You have five years and a bit to come up with a presentation that won't bore me to tears."

"But I've already been in line-"

"Welcome to Hell." Crowley waved his hand and the two guards gripped the supplicant by his armpits and dragged him toward the door.

Next bloody time. What had he been thinking?


	7. Chapter 7

_**Well, this has taken a lot longer than I expected. I have no excuse other than the fact that life and work kind of got away from me. I really hope you're still reading! Anyway, like the previous two chapters, this was got too long for a single chapter. I promise I will work harder to get the next one out more quickly!**_

 _ **Thank you for your patience!**_

 _ **psyche b**_

7\. Quaint & Curious Volumes

Sara looked at herself in the mirror, certain that the signs of a sleepless night were etched on her face. Sleeplessness wasn't so unusual for her, but the reason was completely novel. She smiled a little. The feeling of his lips brushing against hers still lingered warm and enticing against her skin. All the right tingles in all the fun places. The words came back to her in his voice and a shiver chased down her spine. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was not the time to drift off into a pleasant daydream. She had a meeting with Sister Roberta, head of both schools, in fifteen minutes.

Well, sort of. The note she found taped to her door asked her, politely, to be in Sister Roberta's office at 10 a.m. Of course, Sister Roberta wouldn't be the only one there. She was probably going to be facing at least two others as well as Sister Roberta herself. It was a tactic meant to intimidate. Sara reminded herself that anyone who had given the King of Hell orders less than twenty four hours before had no business being intimidated by a few nuns who thought she'd been a naughty girl.

She took a copy of her trust documents and flipped through until she found the relevant passage and highlighted it. She wasn't sure if she would need it, but experience had taught her that it was best to go in prepared. She stuck a post-it note between the pages so she could find it without shuffling through. She was flipping the pages closed when her eye caught a list of schools; St. Theresa's in Iowa, St. Faith's in North Dakota and St. Christina's in Oregon. All were listed as suitable alternatives if St. Augustin's didn't work out.

Sara sat down on the edge of the bed and studied the names. Sister Helen was the only one of the nuns who had ever mentioned a past and that only happened once. Sara was fairly certain that Sister Helen said she had graduated from a school called St. Faith's. The alarm on her phone went off, signaling that she had ten minutes before her meeting. There would be time for considering the options, either during the lecture or during the grand silence before. She tucked both copies of the paperwork into her bag along with her phone and trotted off across the quad.

She forced herself to walk when she got into the administration building. To be caught moving with anything other than solemn purpose would mean another fifteen minutes of lecture at least. The sound of her footfalls echoed off the gleaming floor. The exposed wood of the hallway and the baseboards glowed with new polish. Paintings and statues decorated niches in the creamy walls. An unadorned wooden bench was outside Sister Roberta's solid, arched door.

She took a deep breath, checked her watch and knocked. The seconds that ticked by felt like minutes. Sara noticed that the plastic plate with Sister Roberta's name on it had been replaced by a brass one with cursive lettering.

The door was opened by a novice who didn't look much older than Sara herself. "Sara?"

"Yes." She handed over the note. "Sister Roberta wanted to see me."

She smiled nervously. "Come in please." She walked behind the desk and picked up a phone.

Sara looked around the sunny room, curiosity sharpening her gaze. It had been nearly three years since she'd been in this office. Not because she had acquired any more respect for the rules, but she had gotten much more adept at flying below the radar. The golden beige and polished wood of the outer office hadn't changed, but the sofa had been reupholstered in a dark green velvety fabric. It had always looked new. Sister Roberta must have wanted a change. The narrow built in book shelves flanked the tall windows were a recent addition as well. None of the books looked like they had ever been opened, but they were all artfully arranged and interspersed with small ceramic ornaments. Sara was suddenly curious if Crowley had any books in his personal spaces. For some reason she was certain that he did and that they weren't just for show.

"You can go in now."

Sister Roberta – a tall, robust woman with a hard mouth and suspicious eyes who was somewhere between fifty and ninety – stood behind her wide desk and gripped her hands in front of her. Sister Helen sat to her left, Father Gordon to her right.

"Sara," She glanced at the carriage clock on her desk and a slight frown flickered across her face. "Right on time. Please, sit." She indicated a wooden chair that had been placed in front of the desk.

"Thank you, Sister. Good morning Sister Helen, Father Gordon." The younger nun looked surprised to be acknowledged at all. Father Gordon gave a warm smile. Sara sat down, her eyes were on Sister Roberta's.

Silence stretched for one minute, then two. The nun's gaze never wavered and neither did Sara's. The nun's back was straight and her hands were folded and still before her on the pristine green blotter. Sara watched her, her eyes looking neither left nor right. Her hands were in her lap, resting on her bag, her posture scrupulously relaxed. The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room.

The silence was another of Sister Roberta's tactics. After a few minutes, the girl is supposed to be so uncomfortable she incriminates herself without the nun saying a word. The idea roused Sara's stubborn streak. Sara hadn't spoken first since she was twelve.

After ten minutes Sister Helen began to fidget. Father Gordon lasted a bit longer. Sister Roberta looked at both of them sternly and then brought her eyes back to Sara's.

Sara didn't move. She concentrated on keeping the tension from her shoulders and a neutral expression on her face.

Father Gordon leaned over. "Sister-"

Sister Roberta raised a warning hand. The priest looked somewhere between uncomfortable and angry, but he fell silent again. Sister Helen was positively unable to be still. Her hands fluttered. Her eyes darted around the room, never lighting on anything for more than a couple of seconds. The priest looked away entirely, his eyes locked onto the pattern of the carpet.

Sara and the older nun just watched each other while the clock ticked and the rest of the panel tried to forget the weight of the silence as it grew heavier in the room.

Father Gordon turned to her again, this time with more determination on his face. "Sister Roberta-"

She held up her hand, silencing him. The priest turned away and once again the ticking of the clock held sway. Sister Roberta's eyes never left Sara's. Sara didn't squirm in the chair, her expression didn't change; her eyes didn't shift.

Sister Helen began to fan herself with the papers in her hand, as if the breeze could somehow create comfort.

"Be still." Sister Roberta's words came out in a frustrated hiss. Her eyes hadn't moved from Sara's. Sara's expression hadn't changed. Sister Helen did her best to obey, but couldn't quite manage stillness.

How long they sat there, a silent tableau of determination and calm flanked by discomfort and fidgeting, Sara couldn't say. As the relentless clock ticked on Sara could see anger growing in the creases around Sister Roberta's eyes, narrowing them. Her graceless thick fingers clutching at each other until her knuckles paled another couple of shades. Sara knew it wouldn't be long now. She kept her breathing slow and relaxed, kept her eyes on Sister Roberta's.

When the tension in the room finally broke it was with an audible crack. "Well?" Sister Roberta demanded. "Aren't you going to say anything about why you're here?"

Sara blinked at the angry nun. "I don't know why I'm here Sister. It wasn't in the note."

Sister Roberta's already too-thin lips disappeared entirely. "You deliberately upset several other students yesterday afternoon."

Sara's calm didn't break. "I did?"

Two spots of dark red flush broke out on her cheeks. "You know very well you did. All of that nonsense about going off on your own." The angry flush spread. "It was no more than vanity and outright cruelty on your part."

Sara was silent for a long moment. "I told Sister Helen I didn't want to share my plans. More than once in fact." She turned her head to look at the younger nun. "Isn't that true, Sister?"

Sister Helen looked nervously at Sister Roberta. "Well, yes, but-"

"There are no excuses. The fact is, you did it." Sister Roberta's words came out a bit too quickly.

Sara took a breath before responding. "I tried to deflect the question, but when I couldn't I answered honestly, yes. Lying is still a sin in every context, isn't it Sister?" Her gaze didn't waver.

"The truth? I would have thought that your idea of the truth is as fluid as the rest of your morals." Sister Roberta said.

"The truth is fluid. I'm young and impetuous. In three weeks I might want to give up on the idea of fashion design all together and be a pastry chef or marine biologist. Changing my mind tomorrow wouldn't make today's aspiration any less true."

The flush on Sister Roberta's cheeks deepened for a moment. "For any of those things you'd need access to your trust fund."

"Of course. I told Sister Helen I would like to finish my four years here before going on to another school."

The nun sat back in her chair and the corners of her lips twitched just once into a suggestion of a smile. Sister Helen and Father Gordon were both watching. "Control of the trust is contingent upon your graduation from this school. That is not guaranteed."

"It's not?" Sara asked.

"A great deal can happen between now and then, Sara. You're a reasonably good student now, but the quality of your work might slip." The thin lips flickered into a hint of smile. "Since, as you said, lying is indeed a sin, l couldn't in good conscience allow a young woman to graduate if she hadn't met all the requirements to my satisfaction. You are granted control of your trust on graduation from this college."

Sara didn't flinch. "Four years of college," she said.

"What was that?" Sister Roberta asked, there was a flash of anticipated victory in her eyes.

"Four years of college," Sara repeated, her confidence intact. She drew the document out of her bag, opened to the appropriate page and handed it to Sister Roberta. "It's the highlighted passage. The stipulation is that I complete four years of college here, or at any one of the other listed schools. The term 'graduation' is never mentioned."

Sister Roberta stared at the page, the angry flush deepened again. "Graduation is implied."

Sara kept her expression neutral. "Sister, my parents were both attorneys. If they had meant graduation they would have said so."

"A court might not interpret it that way." The nun seemed to be perfectly still, but the edge of her veil trembled just slightly. Her eyes were locked on Sara's.

"And a court might look at the educational opportunities I've been offered here as inadequate preparation for life beyond these walls. A judge might determine that another Catholic university would be more suitable."

A ripple of shock passed through Sister Helen and Father Gordon. Sister Roberta didn't even twitch. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a conjecture."

"And yet, you haven't attempted such an extreme action before. Perhaps because you know you would lose." Sister Roberta's face betrayed nothing, but her index finger twitched. Twice. Sara pretended not to notice.

"No one's ever threatened to stop my graduation before."

"You really think I couldn't fill your spot?"

"I'm sure you could. If I walked out of here today by tomorrow you'd have someone else ready to move in. Unless something truly nefarious is going on, which I doubt, you don't have a personal stake in keeping me away from the money either so I have to question why this is so important to you at all."

Sister Roberta stared at Sara, her index finger twitched again. "This school has certain guiding principles. You might think yourself to be in some way apart from the others but you are just an orphan in my care."

"I was, until I turned eighteen, but under the law I'm an adult. While I'm here I will do my best to follow the rules, but I will not allow you or anyone else to dictate my future. Nor will I accept being treated like a criminal because I choose to make up my own mind."

Sister Roberta rose slowly. "Now you listen to me-"

"Sister." Father Gordon's calm voice carried enough force to silence to the room. Sister Roberta sat back down again. "Sara, we need to discuss this. Would you wait in the hall for a few minutes, please?"

Sara nodded and got up. There was really no winning with Sister Roberta and Sara knew it. Giving in wasn't in her nature. The room was silent until she closed the heavy door behind herself. Sara was certain that she heard the word 'abomination' filter through it into the outer office. It had to be something else. Concentration or motivation or some other word that the wood and Sara's anger had twisted. She straightened her back and walked out into the hall to wait.

#

Crowley looked at the three books and two scrolls that were spread out on his desk. This was the last of Hell's extensive library of everything that lived in the dark. Well, the last of the part that he hadn't written himself. He had flipped through heavy, hand-lettered pages that smelled of blood and sulfur. He had rolled and unrolled scrolls of heavy parchment on jeweled bars and strips of flesh wound on human femurs, their ends worn smooth by time and use. He'd lost track of how many languages he'd waded through, how many times he'd stumbled across some description that started out promising only to fall apart as he read deeper.

"Bollocks." The word came out in a frustrated exhalation.

A single manicured fingernail tapped against the end a twice-broken and healed femur. A tingle of memory teased over his lips and he gave himself a moment to savor the sensation and the anticipation of the next time. A human couldn't possibly leave him so distracted. The memory of her lips fluttered over his again. The rhythm of his tapping finger broke. Crowley took a long swallow of scotch.

He scanned the open pages one more time. Things that crawled. Things with claws and fangs and scales. Things that couldn't be touched by sunlight. Things that preyed. Things that were obvious to demon eyes, no matter what disguises they wore. Of course, so were all of Heaven's bloody host so what exactly did that leave?

Something else. Something different. A girl that didn't flinch from questions; not from answering them, not from asking them. A girl who watched and listened and kept her own counsel. A girl who would not be tempted or impressed or led. A girl who met his eyes, made demands and expected those demands to be met.

He might not know what she was, but the king recognized power when he saw it.

He also recognized opportunity.

Those were the only reasons he allowed himself to put words to. The fact that the residue of humanity thrummed through his veins whenever he so much thought of her made no difference. Crowley drained the glass of scotch and closed the books. Three plumes of suffering-scented dust rose. The king didn't stop to savor it. He had plans to make. The summoning spell tumbled from his lips as he walked into the empty throne room.

#

Sara sat on the purposely uncomfortable bench and stared at a painting of a scholarly St. Augustin. The artist had included no details on the pages of the saint's two open books or on the large sheet of parchment he was writing on, but Sara had always gotten the impression that it was something mathematical. She couldn't have explained her reasons if anyone asked. She couldn't even have named the reasons. Maybe the reason wasn't as important as the feeling.

The picture itself had been reframed since Sara had been here last. The previous frame had been carved with leaves and intricate scrolls and had an antique golden tone. It had suited the style of the painting better than the new, simple one did. The new one was stained the same shade as the rest of the woodwork in the building. The change dulled the colors and served to make the image a part of the background.

When the door opened again, Sara ignored it. Father Gordon sat down next to her.

"My fate has been decided?" Sara asked.

Father Gordon smiled a little. "It's not the death penalty Sara."

She looked at him. "I didn't do anything wrong in the first place."

"Sister Roberta is just very protective of the girls in her care. Perhaps she's a bit too protective at times. You won't get far being challenging and making threats though."

"Threats and insults won't get her very far either." Sara said.

"What actually happened?"

"What did she say? That's the only version that's going to make it into the official record."

"I want your version."

Sara looked back to St. Augustin. "The room felt like it was a hundred and ten degrees. Everyone else had spoken. I hadn't. Sister Helen kept pushing, kept asking me what I wanted, option A or option B. I kept telling her that I didn't have anything to say, but she didn't want to accept that. She said everyone would be happy to stay in that sweltering room to listen to me. I wasn't going to lie and I was too hot and too tired to equivocate."

He nodded. "I can respect that."

"And Sister Roberta?"

"Sister Roberta has always been a single-minded woman."

She looked at him again. "Not to sound self-centered, but what does that mean for me?"

"It means that you're a bright young woman who would be an asset to any profession. We simply want you to see the whole picture. In the twenty-first century religious life is too often dismissed out of hand because it's seen as nothing more than a list of prohibitions and that people who make that choice enjoy self-denial. I think that sometimes our students have a difficult time seeing it that way. We want you to have the full picture before you make up your mind, so you'll meet with a dozen or so of the sisters and learn about their own journeys of faith." His eyes and his voice were sincere.

"And option B?"

"If you fall in love, you won't need anyone to convince you to marry."

She wouldn't have bet on the truth of that statement, but Father Gordon seemed to believe it. With the right mindset and approach, this could be an opportunity. She reminded herself not to sound too eager. Sara forced a sigh. "The personal touch mixed with the high pressure sales pitch."

Father Gordon laughed. "I wouldn't call it either one of those."

"I suppose Sister Roberta is first?"

"No, I'm first." He stood. "It's close enough to lunchtime. How about we go to LaComb's in Frieling?"

Sara stood. "I'm allowed off campus?"

He laughed. "This isn't a prison Sara. Come on."

#

When the timber industry all but disappeared, the town of Frieling almost suffered the same fate. The most tenacious residents had managed to hang on until the coming of the federal prison, but the downtown itself still bore the scars of the lean times. The one place on Main Street that had bustled with activity through it all was LaComb's Diner. LaComb's sat between a long-empty department store and a florist and it drew customers from all around. There were blue and white gingham curtains in the high, wide windows and a feeling of welcome inside. Sara and Father Gordon got the last available booth at the back of the long, narrow restaurant.

Over cheeseburgers, fries and vanilla shakes they chatted about music and what Sara had been doing to keep herself busy over the summer. It was perfectly chatty and scripted and it gave Sara a few minutes to think about what she really wanted to know and how to get to that information without raising suspicion. She decided that she would just take a page from Sister Roberta's book and just listen.

"I went to a school like St. Al's."

This was her opening. "For college?"

"No. When I was in the fifth grade my father passed away and two years later my mother married my stepfather. My sister and I were both sent away to school at the start of the next school year."

"And that was okay with you?" Sara took a sip of the shake.

He smiled. "Not at the time. My stepfather, Jason, said that he wanted us to be safe and well educated. I thought he wanted to get rid of me. I came to admire the priests and find comfort in my faith."

Sara dipped a French fry in a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise. "Why was he worried about your safety?"

There was just a flicker of hesitation. "He thought that morality was being eroded. Adults could make choices, but there were too many influences on children. He wanted us to be free of some of those pressures."

There was at least an omission in there, if not an outright lie. He went on before Sara could parse through it.

"I toyed with doing a few other things. Well, anything but the priesthood really." He began to talk about struggling to reconcile himself to the idea that there were things he'd be giving up and realizing what he would be gaining.

Sara nodded at the right times and made sure to look interested, but she was already turning over what he'd said – what he'd glossed over – about his new stepfather. Of the girls she knew well, most of them had come to the school after a parent remarried. It gave her some idea of what she needed to listen for when she talked to the others as well. She needed to know more about their parents.

#

Lunch with Father Gordon had turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. He hadn't preached, he hadn't tried to change her mind, he'd just talked until he had nothing more to say on the subject. Looking at the list he had given her she doubted the other meetings would go as well. She had promised to set up meetings with the others as soon as possible. She pinned the list to her corkboard out of the way of her designs. Sara would start when she was feeling more prepared.

Using what she knew about the girls and what she knew about Father Gordon she wrote down the similarities and differences in families. All of the girls had come to the school after a parent remarried, or after a major change in one of their parents. She knew about half the girls on her list well enough to know that prior to that, the family hadn't been particularly religious. Sara couldn't remember ever having been in a church before her parents died.

All the things she knew were remarkably similar. She would have to check her facts, but the similarities were striking. Sara stared at the page. One more thing to keep her occupied while waiting for the time to pass until she could see Crowley again. She picked up her phone, intending to text him, then put the phone down again. What would she say? Even if she came up with something, what would she be interrupting? Leah wouldn't have cared. Leah would have sent a hello or a dirty joke or a picture of her boobs or whatever else came into her mind.

She picked up the phone again.

Of course Leah had never had the King of Hell's number. Would that have stopped her? Sara doubted it. She looked down at the phone.

Sara was back to the wondering what she would say. Even if she wanted to tell him about what she'd put together in the last few hours – little as that was - how would she phrase it so it didn't sound like paranoid lunacy?

The phone buzzed in her hand. Sara gasped and almost dropped it. The call was from his number.

"Of course it is." Sara said. She let it ring three times before answering. "Hi there."

"What are you wearing?" His voice was a seductive growl that brought back all of the half-formed overheated fantasies from the sleepless night before.

Sara blushed and willed the tremor out of her voice. "Clothes. Why?"

His tone changed immediately. "Oh, I don't mean now, I meant next week. Really Darling, do you think I spend my days making funny phone calls?"

Sara pictured the amused sparkle in his eyes. Her blush deepened and she was glad he couldn't see her. "I don't know what to wear, you haven't said where we're going."

"True. Cocktail attire would be appropriate."

She glanced at her closet and then at the designs on the board. Everything she had was either too formal or not formal enough. Telling him that was not an option. "I can manage that."

"Really? Because I could arrange a little shopping trip for the two of us."

Sara leaned back on her bed. "Thanks, but I really think I'm okay. Where-"

"Perhaps I would enjoy choosing something for you."

"Maybe you would, but this will be the first time that you haven't just shown up at some random moment. Maybe I'd like to dress for you."

He was silent for a long moment. "Such a persuasive girl." His voice was soft and seductive. Sara bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "You never did answer my question."

"Question?" The word came out with a little squeak at the end. Sara cursed herself for her own reactions, reminding herself that this was not one of the boys from St. Al's. This was a demon with an agenda.

He chuckled. "About what you think I do all day."

Demon or not, Sara couldn't help but smile. "You didn't answer my question about where we're going. I'd call us even."

"Thursday evening, seven-thirty, your roof-top hideaway."

"I look forward to it." Sara said.

She ended the call and tossed the phone aside. Six days. She had six days to go from no idea at all to finished dress. And it had to be amazing. She picked up her sketchbook and cursed herself for not taking him up on his offer of shopping.


	8. Chapter 8

_Well, this took way longer – and is way longer – than I ever expected. I hope it was worth it. The title is from the song "Kiss From A Rose" by Seal. As always, you are the best readers ever!_

 _Keep letting me know what you think. Your comments always make my day._

 _psyche b_

8\. Growing Addiction That I Can't Deny

It had taken her all evening and part of the morning but she finally managed to come up with two sketches that she liked. One was a very traditional, sleeveless style with a long chiffon scarf that draped gracefully along the rounded neckline and flowed down her back. With an asymmetrical peplum and a layered skirt, the other was a bit more unusual. Sara had pinned them to the board and stood back envisioning how each would look on her and how each would move around her legs. For a moment she even tried to imagine which he would like better. Sara abandoned that almost immediately. Getting inside his head, even about something as simple as a dress, was a futile effort. She'd always trusted herself before, there was no reason to stop now.

She scanned each sketch and attached them to the email to send to Leah, but Sara couldn't make herself hit send. Leah would ask questions. Well, she would ask the question Leah had been asking Sara before every date she'd ever had – the 'are you going to sleep with him?' question. The idea had always been ridiculous and the answer had always been an unequivocal no delivered with firm certainty.

Technically it still was no, but the idea of sleeping with Crowley didn't seem so ridiculous. She couldn't explain the shift to herself and she certainly didn't want to try to explain it to Leah. She deleted the message.

Sara looked from one dress to the other again. She changed the skirt on the peplum dress, styling it more like a pencil skirt. The one with the scarf might be more reminiscent of the traditional little black dress, but it held none of Sara's own personality. She tossed the sketch aside. "Well, he did say I have my own style. Here's hoping it's appreciated."

She sorted through her shoes next, finally selecting a pair of dangerous looking black Kate Spade heels. They would go perfectly with the matte black satin fabric she'd been saving for a special occasion. Sara put the shoes back and started looking through the pattern pieces she already had drafted.

#

Crowley dug his fingers into the dark curls and forced his hard cock deeper into the gagging girl's throat. The dark blue Versace dress was pushed up around her waist. A line of sweat was beginning to darken the fabric in the middle of her back. He didn't need to see her face to know that her mascara was streaked down over her cheeks.

It had been four days since he'd seen Sara last when he reached the conclusion that his fascination with her was some kind of insanity. The idea played on his mind, distracting him almost as much as the remembered sensation of her lips brushing over his or the way her eyes sparkled with fascination and curiosity. She was only a human and any other human could fill the empty space where she should have been. Spending time with any one of them would probably engender those same pulls of emotion that Sara did.

So he'd found one. Confident, petite and fair-skinned, she wasn't the image of Sara but she was close enough for his purposes. Even better, she was under contract. A vague promise of reward and a bit of pampering and she-what was her name? Jenna? Jane? It didn't matter. Jenna or Jane or whoever she was had been more than tempted.

He'd sent her the clothes, saw to it that her hair was styled and her make up perfect, and she was remarkably impressed. He had sat across from her at dinner and watched her struggle to form a logical question and struggle even harder to put together five intelligent words to answer one. Not out of fear, he gave her that. She was simply as devoid of curiosity and wit as the rest of them.

He'd kissed her and she arched into him with the desperation of a whore and none of the grace. Getting her on her knees and his cock down her throat had taken no more than a veiled suggestion.

He twisted his hand in her hair and shoved his cock deeper when she whimpered sharply. She wasn't even particularly good at this, but at least it would serve to alleviate a bit of tension. She grasped a handful of his trousers in desperation. He eased the pressure on her head just long enough for her to get a breath. He pressed her down again, feeling himself getting closer to release.

Through it all, the residue of humanity that clung to him had remained perfectly silent. He moved his hips and her head with more purpose, wanting to finish with the whole encounter. No reason not to cum. Not when he was so close already.

The king closed his eyes and drew on the memory of that fluttering almost-kiss and the way Sara's hands had wrapped around his lapels. Longing coursed through him. It was all he needed to push him over the edge. Vaguely he felt the girl struggle harder, but he ignored it. He waited until he was finished before pushing her away and rearranging his clothes. She was still coughing and trying to pull her skirt down while he straightened his tie.

"Wh-what about-" She coughed hard. "Y-you said you'd reward me."

Crowley looked down at Jenna-or-Jane. She was a cheap, used whore in a ruined frock and he did feel something. He felt disgust.

"The King of Hell just came in your mouth." He buttoned his jacket. "What more do you want?" Before she could respond, he disappeared.

#

Sara decided that if she never sewed another bead on a dress it would be too soon. Still, looking at the reflection of the finished product in the dressing table mirror, she was fairly certain that spending days locked away in her room had been worth the sacrifice. She looked at her refection again. The big question was, what to do with her hair. After all the work she put in, the dress needed something a bit special. Nothing over the top, but something a little better than every day.

She shrugged out of her worn terrycloth robe and sat in front of the glass in only her black lacy underwear and stockings, hoping for some sort of inspiration. Sara piled her hair up on top of her head and turned her head to the left and the right. She didn't have any more ideas, but she did catch sight of the clock. She had less than two hours to do her hair, do her make-up, get dressed and get up to the roof. For anyone else she wouldn't have cared about being a little late. For him…well, she supposed it wasn't good manners to keep the king of anything waiting.

Her heart started to pound and a blush colored her cheeks. Less than two hours. What if he hated the dress? What if he hated her hair? What if he just didn't show at all? Sara's fingers were shaking as she selected two small sections of hair at her right temple and began to twist them together.

She put her hands in her lap again and took a deep breath and told herself to stop being ridiculous. She had been fine before that night at the crossroads and she would be fine if she never saw him again.

Now all she had to do was repeat that a few million times and she might start to believe it. She changed her mind about her hair and brushed her hair back from her face, separating a few tendrils to frame her face.

#

Crowley relaxed in the plush leather chair in his office and looked at the three demons standing in front of him. Two of them were trying to cover their relief. Their part in this little meeting was done and they were both still intact. The third, a weasel-faced little man called Barton who was apparently trying to bring back disco single-handed, was twitching and doing his best to fade into the wallpaper. Not an easy thing to do in a chartreuse polyester shirt and a dirty great gold medallion. The king had purposely saved the best for last.

Crowley studied his freshly manicured nails and savored another sip of scotch. The others stared at Barton and began to shuffle a little further away from the unfashionable demon. His eyes were darting around the room, his right hand was beginning to beat out a staccato rhythm against the side of his thigh. Crowley knew it wouldn't be long now.

His hand moved faster for moment, then it stopped. "I don't know where they are." The words came out too fast in his nasal voice.

Crowley waited a moment, his eyes down. He looked up as if surprised that Barton had spoken. "Pardon?"

"I said…I said I'm not sure where they are at this particular moment. But-I mean…that's not permanent."

"Oh!" Crowley's eyes brightened. "You're telling me that you _lost_ them."

"Ah…no-"

Anger flared in Crowley's eyes. "You lost them!" His voice filled the large room. All three demons flinched. The king got up and stalked toward the slightly trembling Barton. "What exactly do your duties consist of?"

"T-to watch the Winchesters."

"And?" Crowley prompted.

Barton was beginning to sweat. "And…"

"And…and…spit it out man!" Some of the carefully cultivated refinement slipped from his voice.

"And to report back to you as requested."

"And?" Crowley prompted again.

"I don't-" His hands were shaking again.

"And to control their movements as I," He produced an ornate blade from inside his jacket and sliced Barton's right cheek and the demon stumbled back, choking back a cry. "See." He sliced Barton's left cheek. "Fit!" He sliced across the demon's stomach. The bright lines crackled and faded slowly. Crowley knew from experience that the pain of a sliced soul would take weeks to ease. Barton staggered back, doing his best not to scream. The other two had already given them a wide berth.

He took two gasping breaths. "Yes, Majesty." Barton's voice trembled. One hand hovered over his injured face, the other in front of his midsection.

Crowley held out his hand toward the others and snapped his fingers. Both shuffled through their pockets but only one came up with a clean handkerchief. He held it out with a barely concealed triumphant smile. The king accepted it and clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the other. He cleaned the blade carefully. "So, since you're too bloody incompetent to know where they are currently, where were they when you last saw them?"

"Texas." He was still taking deep breaths and trying to still his trembling.

Crowley stared at him. "Texas. Well that narrows it down. And when was that?" He kept his voice purposely controlled.

Barton swallowed hard. "Four days ago."

"Four days?" Control left him for a moment.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty. They were in a motel-"

"They're two humans, purportedly. The big one is known in every health food market from one side of the country to the other. The one who fancies himself likes cheap booze and cheap tarts. How difficult can they be to track?"

"But it was late and I thought-"

"I don't want you thinking, I want you watching and keeping them out of my way!" The king advanced and the demon backed off another step. "What were they doing in Texas?"

"Hunting a nest of vampires."

That made sense. Moose and Squirrel had spent the last several month returning to their roots or male bonding or…whatever. He took care not to look too accepting of the answer. "And then you got lazy and let them slip away right under your nose. Didn't you?"

A spark of angry protest flashed in his eyes, then wisdom prevailed. "Yes, Majesty."

"You're going to keep them away from the northeast." Crowley said.

"But if I don't know where they are-"

The blade flashed and sliced a deeper line across his midsection, the second line crossing the first. The king put the tip of the knife against Barton's sternum. "Because I am a generous and benevolent king, I will give you until ten o'clock tonight." He pressed the tip of the blade deep enough to hit bone. "Disappoint me, and I will spend years slicing your soul to ribbons before I kill you." Crowley stepped back and smiled. He wiped the blade clean again and tucked the bloody handkerchief back into its owner's top pocket.

"Anything else?" He looked at the three of them. "No? Get out."

The three of them disappeared. Crowley stood in front of the cheval mirror. The spot of blood on his gray silk tie stood out a mile. He mumbled a curse and selected another, this one was paisley in shades of red on a black background. It was rather striking, but he'd never found the right occasion to wear it. Tonight was the night. He put it on and took himself to Sara's rooftop.

She was standing at the railing with her back to him. Her feet together, her arms stretched out, hands resting on the railing. Her head was up, shoulders relaxed, eyes looking out over the mountains and the towns settled in the valleys. She could have been surveying her realm.

Or his.

Tendrils of hair that had artfully escaped her French twist teased the curve of her neck and the breeze that teased them carried the scent of La Vie Est Belle. He inhaled deeply and let his eyes caress the smooth skin of her shoulders and then down over the dress. Crowley had expected something safe and traditional. This dress was neither of those things.

A vining pattern of beads that was reminiscent of a William Morris design grew from the longest corner of the asymmetrical peplum and decorated the bodice, providing just a bit of sparkle and contrast with the simple skirt. The peplum itself broke a couple of inches above her natural waist, smoothing the line of her body. It was a refined blend of Donna Karan, vintage Dior, Vera Wang and other elements he couldn't quite name. It was uniquely Sara.

Crowley watched a ripple move up her back and down her arms to her hands, but she didn't turn her head. The longest edge of the peplum, the one that was just behind the middle of her left thigh, quivered a bit as well and then she was still again.

#

Sara's heart was pounding. He was there. She was sure he was there, just watching her. She fought to keep the tension out of her shoulders. In all the time she'd spent worrying about the dress and her hair and what jewelry to wear that she hadn't spared a thought for what to say to him. Sara's mind raced. True this feeling could have just been her imagination. If he was there he hadn't made a sound. Not that he would. She hadn't made a sound when she was sitting in Sister Roberta's office.

Would he think that she was trying to manipulate him with her silence? She was sure he knew the tactic and she was certain he was better at it than she was. She couldn't think of anything witty that didn't sound ridiculous. She could think of a million things that just sounded stupid. That would make him regret this evening before it even got started. _Come on Sara_ , she thought, _say something before he leaves._

"The shoes," He said, breaking the silence. "Are probably Kate Spade, though I wouldn't swear to it." She heard him walking toward her. "The bag is vintage, probably from the 1920's. It was either well preserved or well repaired." He stopped behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. Sara forced herself to keep breathing. "But the dress," one finger traced the beaded pattern. "The dress is something special."

Sara blushed and took a step to the side, needing to put some space between the two of them. She faced him, a little smile on her lips. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's a curious thing." He moved his finger in a circle, indicating that she should turn around.

Sara straightened her back and didn't move, her eyes on his. Despite her outward calm, Sara's thoughts were racing. Did he like it? Did he think it was strange? Did he like it generally, but not on her? Was it even appropriate for wherever they were going? Those and a thousand other questions and insecurities tumbled over each other. She tried to tell herself that she had answers for all of them and she did, but standing close enough to touch him, she didn't find a single one of them believable.

His eyes sparkled, a little smile on his lips. "Please?"

She took a couple of steps away from the railing and turned slowly, hoping he couldn't see the little tremor in her knees. The sensation of his eyes moving over her body made Sara's breath catch. She made one slow circuit. "And?" Sara asked when she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"And I'm even more curious."

Curious? That was all he had to say? Curious could mean anything. She took a deep breath and tried to sound confident. "I knew you had style, but I didn't take you for an expert on women's fashion."

"Fashion is vanity and vanity is one of my biggest sellers." He moved closer. "This is not one of your charity shop finds."

She nodded once. "True."

He began to circle her slowly. Sara began to feel like she was being scrutinized by a shark. "Now pet, that isn't much of an answer."

"You didn't ask much of a question. You made an assumption and I confirmed it." He was behind her, his fingers trailing lightly along the peplum seam. Sara clutched her bag and tried not to bite her lower lip while sparks of bright sensation traveled up and down her spine.

"So, not a known designer. Not a charity shop. An original creation by someone local?" He was still at her back, still moving slowly, his fingertips still tracing that seam.

Sara wanted to ask him to stop and she wanted him to keep going. "Yes."

"Some little out of the way boutique perhaps?" He was in front of her again, his eyes narrow and appraising.

"No." A little smile curled the corners of her lips

He looked at her again. "Just a talented local who might be interested in a deal?"

"No." Sara said.

His eyebrows rose. "You sound very sure of that."

"She's already turned you down, and she hasn't changed her mind."

For a moment he just looked at her, then surprise and recognition animated his features. "You?"

She looked up at him. "What? Just because I live in a convent in the middle of nowhere I'm limited to tartan skirts and white blouses?"

"An eye for what you like is one thing. The ability to create it is something else." A slow smile spread across his lips. His eyes brightened. "I'm not often surprised."

Sara knew exactly where the impulse came from. Despite the endless hours sewing and the time spent interviewing nuns, there was one thought that was buzzing around in her head. Now, standing in front of him, that single thought – that single _need_ \- subsumed everything else. Before she could think better of it, she stepped forward, stood on her toes and kissed his lower lip. She stood there for what seemed like hours, her on her toes his arms down at his sides, her open hands hovering less than an inch from his chest, electricity chasing over her skin and uncertainty growing in her heart. Just when she was about to pull away he dipped his head, wrapped his arms around her waist and took control of the kiss.

His tongue teased over her lips and Sara parted hers, leaning on him and caressing his tongue hesitantly and then with more confidence. The longer his mouth was on hers, the more the world contracted. She felt the heat and pressure of his hands around her waist and on her back. The solid wall of his body that gave her stability when her knees trembled. The hint of scotch in his mouth and the way his teeth caught her lip from time to time that took away everything else in thin, delectable slices. Her hands stroked over his back, taking in the slope of muscles underneath fine wool.

The kiss was fire and light. It was the promise of passion and the ache of need and Sara had no idea how long she was held in its thrall. Finally the first flush of intensity faded and they separated, the king drinking kisses from her mouth, Sara beginning to feel the world coming back again.

"Any more surprises this evening, Pet?" His lips met hers again.

"You couldn't have been that surprised." She smiled and nipped lightly at his lower lip. "This is the next time after all and if I didn't do it now, I would have thought about it all night."

He chuckled and captured her lips for a moment again. "I have tickets for a gallery opening, or," He kissed her lightly. "We could go back to the suite in Burlington, have a bit of dinner, a bit of…."

Sara felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but her voice was steady and so were her eyes. "That isn't going to happen tonight." She stepped back. He kept his hand on her waist.

He gave a heavy sigh and drew her closer. Sara let him. "Tell me you aren't waiting for some boy who doesn't even know what all the bits do."

She laughed. "If that's what I wanted, I could have had it by now." Sara stepped back again, this time he let her go. "Gallery opening?"

"Young artist having his first major showing at a large gallery. I thought it might be interesting." He offered his arm.

Sara took it, he eyes still on his.

"Ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer the feeling of falling came again. This time she knew what to expect. They appeared again across a wide city street from a brightly lit wide storefront. Dashwood Gallery was written in tall slender letters in an art deco style on one of the windows. Sara swayed on her feet and then gripped his arm a little tighter for a moment.

He looked down at her, his eyebrows slightly lifted. "Alright, pet?"

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Fine." Sara let go of his arm and he led her across the street with his hand in the small of her back.

"What do the nuns teach you about art?" He asked when they were safely on the other side of the street.

"Not much. I know what I like, but that's about all."

He smiled. "That's all anyone really needs."

The question was perfectly ordinary under the circumstances, but something about it tickled against Sara's mind. Her uncertainty was still too amorphous to put into words. When he opened the door, she stepped through into a large white room where knots of people dressed mostly in black formed and split to mingle anew. There were flashes of red and bright yellow here and there and the sparkle of sequins caught the light. It reminded Sara of the Ascot scene from My Fair Lady, just without the hats.

Paintings comprised of wild slashes of color were comfortably spaced on the purposely bland walls. The cynical bray of a New York City accent was all Sara could discern from the swirling conversations that went on around then as they moved inside. Crowley plucked two glasses of white wine from a passing server's tray. He handed one to Sara.

They wandered toward the first painting on the right side of the room. It was a large enough canvas that it would easily dominate most rooms. The thick black and red streaks and whirls of color could have looked bold and conveyed strength, but there was something that didn't quite work about the whole thing. Sara took a step back and took a sip of her wine. She studied the painting for a moment, then realized that Crowley was looking at her and not the canvas. A little smile on his lips.

"What?" She asked.

"Just wondering what you think."

Sara opted for diplomacy. "I think I need to see a bit more before I form an opinion." She walked past him to another canvas, equally large with an equally bold potential in orange and navy blue, and that potential was equally unfulfilled.

"Crowley!" A round white-haired man with an extravagantly waxed and curled mustache came across the room and grasped the demon's hand, shaking it vigorously. "It's been too long."

"How could I stay away? I've heard so much about this artist."

"Julian has taken the city by surprise. Frankly, I don't know how he's been overlooked all these years." He glanced at Sara for the first time, his gaze more sharply appraising than one would expect from such a jovial figure.

"Jacob Dashwood, my companion for the evening, Sara." Crowley said.

He held out a meaty hand and Sara took it. "This is a rare pleasure."

"A pleasure to meet you as well." Sara tried to pull her hand away, but he held on tighter.

"And what do you think our little exhibit?"

His tone dripped indulgence. She gave an equally indulgent smile. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before." She glanced around. "And I'm not sure I'll ever see anything like it again." Sara gave her hand a sharper tug. This time he let her go.

He looked at Crowley. "There you are, even your lovely companion thinks Julian is going to be a sensation." He turned back to Sara and leaned forward as if speaking to a child. "You don't mind of I steal him away for a few minutes do you?" Before she could answer, he saved her the trouble. "Of course you don't. You wouldn't want to listen to us chuntering on about business." He took Crowley's nearly empty glass and put it on a tray as a waitress went by. "I have some Scotch in the back."

Sara sighed and turned back to the painting. She'd give him half an hour, then she'd start doing something about getting back to school on her own.

#

Crowley spent fifteen minutes with Jacob Dashwood The Arrogant. Of course he bought something. Julian was poised to be big. No reason not to take advantage. He'd leave the two canvases crated in a warehouse until it was time to sell.

He returned to the main gallery and searched for Sara. He found her standing in front of a green and white monstrosity. A tall young man with a sculpted jawline and athletic grace was trying to make small talk. Sara gave him an appraising glance, found him wanting and politely extricated herself. Crowley couldn't suppress a little smile.

A slim woman in a black and white dress said from just behind him. "So that's her."

He took a sip of wine. "Who?"

"The king spending time with a Catholic school girl? The rumor mill has been working overtime on this one." Her phone beeped and her thumbs flew over the screen. "She's different than I thought she would be."

Crowley glanced over at her. The demon Celeste was not only one of his most successful specialists, she was a keen observer. "In what way?"

"I thought she'd stumble on her heels or stand in the corner looking like a frightened fawn."

"And?"

"And the way she owns the room is really quite something. It's subtle and I don't think she realizes she's doing it, but it's there. If that's what they're teaching in convents these days more of us ought to start taking advantage." The phone beeped again. She responded with swift assurance.

A little smile flickered over the king's lips. "So, tell me about Julian."

"Profoundly untalented, personally repugnant, a rampant ego, and a horrible bore. He's also the darling of three of the four major critics in the city. He could piss against a wall and they would fall over each other to say how brilliant the pattern of the splashes was."

His eyebrows lifted. "Only three of the four?"

"If the fourth said the sun would rise tomorrow the other three would disagree. The more vehemently he denounces Julian, the more the other three sing his praises." Celeste gave a satisfied little smile. "I know my job."

He gave a little nod and gestured to the room. "And here?"

"All the feedback has been positive and just about every piece has already been sold."

"How many were sold to us?"

"However many you bought plus the one Davis bought. No one else has been in."

Crowley scanned the room and found the short, gray haired demon standing in between two tall women. Their skirts were just a bit too short and their jewelry just a bit too flashy. "I see he's still supporting his local prostitutes.

"He smells like B.O. and garlic. Who else would spend time with him?"

"Make certain Julian continues to be the darling of the art world." The king moved away, repeating the incantation under his breath with his eyes on Sara's back. After spending this much time in the presence of demon magic she shouldn't need it, but Sara was quite capable of surprising him.

#

Sara had dodged two passes, had a very pleasant chat with one of her favorite fashion bloggers, booked a train ticket and grown steadily more annoyed with Crowley's absence. The last part wasn't particularly rational. For all of his charm, he was a demon. There was no reason to think that he cared at all about her and her feelings. She had finally wandered around to the very back of the room and found an unoccupied bench shaped like a large S, allowing people sitting in the seats to almost face each other. Hopefully the set of her shoulders and the fact that she chose to face one of those awful paintings instead of the room communicated her desire to be left alone.

"Had a pleasant evening?" Crowley asked. He sat in the other seat.

Sara turned her head slightly. Curiosity was sparkling in his eyes. She turned slightly and held his gaze.

"Well, the wine is foul and the paintings are worse."

Surprise flickered through his eyes but didn't touch the rest of his face. "I've bought two."

"Investment?"

"You think I couldn't possibly like them?"

Sara thought for a moment. "The colors should be a bold statement, but they're imbalanced on the canvas and that ruins the effect. Instead of strength it just looks haphazard. You would see it from a mile off. He doesn't even pick his own colors. He uses the colors of colleges and universities. If you bought two, I would venture a guess that your investment will be maturing in about nine years and eleven months."

A little smile touched his lips. "That's a rather cynical view, pet."

"But I'm not wrong." Her voice was confident.

"No, you're not wrong." Silence stretched and the hum of conversation surrounded them. "One more question. Aside from me, how many demons are here tonight?"

Sara was taken aback. "I couldn't have any way of knowing-"

"How many?" She could hear the edge of demand in his voice.

"Two." The answer was out before she had a chance to think about it.

A hungry smile lifted the corners of his lips. "Dinner?"

She considered for a moment. "Planning to disappear after the appetizer?"

The king feigned shock. "Pet, you wound me." He stood and offered his hand.

Sara checked her watch and put her hand in his. "I should make my train." She stood.

Anger and amusement flickered through his eyes. "We'll talk about that over a decent drink." He took Sara's glass from her hand and returned it to a server on the way out.


	9. Chapter 9

**9\. The King and The Prince**

 _This has taken so much longer than I expected and I'm sorry for that. I only hope there are some of you who will forgive me and keep reading. Sometimes I would like to be able to disappear for a few days so I could get some writing done without interruption._

 _Anyway…here it is. Enjoy and let me know what you think!_

 _psyche b_

Sara looked curiously around the book-lined study. Banks of candles glowed from inside the fireplace, adding to the warm atmosphere created by the recessed lighting. A table was set up between two comfortably worn leather armchairs. A matching sofa and coffee table were on the back wall. She heard Crowley speaking softly to the young woman who had led them down a long hall past large rooms filled with diners and a billiard room with a bar at one end. She was dressed as a Victorian maid, starched white apron, white cap and her blond hair pinned back in a severe but serviceable bun. Not entirely surprising considering that they had been admitted by a butler who had bowed courteously and greeted Crowley with deference and distant familiarity.

She walked away from the two of them and scanned the books on the shelves. A collection of the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was bound in worn green leather. Agatha Christie was in red. Dorothy L. Sayers in royal blue. She pulled out 'Clouds of Witness' from the Sayers books and thumbed through the pages, smiling when she saw they were as solid as they looked and not decorator's props. The door closed softly.

He put his hand on the small of Sara's back and looked over her shoulder. "Favorite of yours?"

Sara her best to ignore the warmth spreading from his hand on her lower back. She turned into him, a little smile on her lips. "I started this one during the second party Leah dragged me to."

"The second?" She heard the surprise in his voice, his thumb moving in wide arcs.

"Well, the first time I was only sixteen and silly enough to think that just sitting on the fringes of the crowd would be enough to keep people away. Not only was I bored, but I still had to…deflect interest." She held up the book. "A serious-looking book was always a good deterrent and it kept me occupied. What do you read?"

He chuckled and took the book from her, sliding it back into place on the shelf. "What makes you think I do?" He trailed the backs of his fingers over the back of her hand as he walked to the sofa. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

Sara watched him sit with one arm extended across the back of the cushions. She sat at the other end of the sofa. She could feel the warmth of his hand. A little smile on her lips, her eyes on his. "That's not an answer."

He thought for a long moment, one finger lightly tracing the top of her shoulder. "I don't have as much time as I would like, but the last thing I picked up out of interest was _The Prince_. Do you know it?"

Sara gave a small laugh. "'The vulgar crowd always is taken in by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar.'" She gave a small shrug with one shoulder. "Or something like that."

His eyes sparkled. "You do know it."

She made a gracefully dismissive gesture with her hand. "I happened across a reference somewhere else and that made me curious. When I tried to get it from the school library I was told that it wasn't appropriate reading material for a St. Augustin's girl. Of course then I had to read it. I spent a couple of afternoons with it in the public library."

There was a predatory gleam in his eye. "Come now, pet. A single reading wouldn't have made such an impression. One might even call that statement a lie."

Sara didn't flinch. "I never claimed that was the only time I read it, and that wasn't what you asked."

The gleam lost some of its keenness and he laughed.

A soft chime sounded in the room and both of them looked toward the glass paned door. Crowley made a gesture and a waiter came in with small cart and on it was a silver bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne chilling in it. He silently filled two gracefully shaped flutes and set a plate of artfully arranged shrimp wrapped in prosciutto on the coffee table along with two small plates. He handed them each a menu.

He stood up, his white-gloved hands clasped in front of him. "Is there anything else either of you require?"

"Not at the moment." Crowley said.

Sara noticed the distance in his voice.

The waiter gestured to an embroidered bell pull in the corner. "Please ring when you're ready to order, or if you have any questions." He gave a small bow and closed the door silently behind himself.

Crowley handed one of the glasses to Sara.

Her fingers brushed his and lingered for just a moment as she took the glass. "What are we celebrating?"

He affected a look of shock. "Darling, one only needs an occasion to enjoy bad champagne."

Sara raised her glass. "To the decadence of nothing in particular."

His smile widened. "To decadence." There was a seductive growl in his voice. He touched her glass with his and the musical note of crystal on crystal filled the small space.

Sara suppressed the little tremor that chased down her spine and took a sip. It was easily the best champagne she'd ever tasted.

"So, you haven't told me how your meeting with the dreaded mother superior went."

Sara took another sip and set the glass aside. "No, I-"

He leaned forward. "Don't tell me you got six strokes of the cane."

She felt a blush heat her cheeks, as much from the rapacious look in his eyes as from the implication. "Of course not!"

An eyebrow rose. "Twelve?"

She laughed. "Would you like a few minutes alone with this little fantasy of yours?"

He thought about that for a moment, grabbed one of the shrimp and popped it in his mouth as he sat back. "Maybe later." He favored her with a lascivious grin.

Sara wished she had worn her hair down so that she'd have somewhere to hide the deepening blush. Instead she turned her head and took her time selecting one of the shrimp. "Then do you want to know what actually happened?" She took a delicate nibble and found it delicious.

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise." He finished the rest of the champagne in his glass and refilled it.

"Well, it didn't turn out quite how I would have expected." She finished the shrimp. "There was all the usual tension and free-flowing accusations. Sister Roberta made a veiled threat about how she might decide that I don't meet the graduation requirements. I suggested I might go to court to modify the trust so I can move to a larger school where I could get a degree that was actually useful, all the usual stuff. We both know that about the worst she can do to me now is confine me to campus so after the she put on her little show I figured that's what would happen. I think Father Gordon intervened and instead I have to interview nuns who are supposed to convince me to drop this foolish idea of actually getting an education and join the order. That's where things have gotten interesting." She took a sip of champagne.

His eyebrows twitched. "And you're being swayed?"

Sara laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, if anything it's pushing me in the other direction. I did find out some interesting information, though. You remember how I said all the girls come to St. Augustin's after some kind of shift in their families?"

"I do."

"Every one of the nuns I've talked so far had the same kind of family upheaval. They all attended a school run by the order."

Curiosity sparkled in his eyes. "A school? There's more than one?"

Sara nodded. "I didn't realize it either until I was reading the terms of my trust. Several were listed as alternatives if St. Augustin's didn't work out. None of the nuns ever talk about themselves and they usually won't answer direct questions. Of all the things I wondered about it didn't even occur to me that all of the nuns in the order were also educated by the order. From what I've heard so far they're the only ones who join."

"None from the outside at all?" Crowley leaned forward a bit.

"Not that I can tell so far."

"How many have you talked to?" He ate another shrimp, but she could see that his curiosity hadn't diminished.

"Eight of the fifteen I've been assigned to."

His eyebrows rose. "Fifteen?"

Sara laughed. "Well it is supposed to be a punishment." She picked up the menu and scanned it. "What would you recommend?"

The little smile that played around his lips turned downright suggestive. "As a punishment?"

She felt a blush heat her cheeks. "For dinner."

"Oh, dinner." He affected innocence. "Do you like seafood?"

"I love it."

He got up and tugged the bell pull. The waiter arrived quickly and Crowley ordered seafood arribbiata for them both as well as a bottle of wine. He sat down on the sofa, closer to her and he filled her glass again. He traced a light circle on her knee. Sara turned a little to look at him, a smile on her lips.

"Talk to anyone interesting at the gallery?"

Sara looked into his eyes until she was sure that she was going to get lost in them. She looked down and traced a light circle on the back of his hand. "How would you define interesting?"

"Young, well-dressed, successful." He caught her fingers. "Male."

The minimal contact making her heart beat faster. "Don't tell me you're jealous, your Majesty."

Fire sparked in his eyes. "Say that again."

Sara's breath caught in her throat for what seemed like ages. "Don't tell me you're jealous." She managed to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"The last bit." There was a rough edge to his voice that sent heat pooling in her lower tummy.

Sara leaned close enough so that her cheek was against the stubble on his cheek. "Your Majesty." The words were soft and unhurried.

He grasped her face with a light touch and put his lips close enough to her ear to brush her skin as he spoke. "Now you're just teasing me."

The feeling of his breath against her ear sent heat spreading across her skin. She closed her eyes and gripped his hand a little tighter, getting lost in the sensation for a delicious moment. When she opened them again she focused on the empty hallway and tried to get ahold of herself. As she watched, a man in a too-shiny shirt printed with mod orange and black rectangles and a pair of white bell bottoms appeared before her eyes. A fresh wound stood out the side of his face. He began to pace, staring into the room as he passed. Sara sat up a little straighter.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

"I think there's someone here to see you." She kept her eyes on the man in the hall. He seemed to be deciding whether or not to knock.

Crowley glanced toward the hall and tension gathered in his shoulders. "Bollocks." The word came out in a frustrated exhalation.

Sara smiled and a little and picked up her handbag. He tightened his grip on her hand and so did the muscle in the side of his jaw. Sara stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "I'm just going to powder my nose. Back in a few minutes." He let her go and Sara crossed the room, the feeling of his eyes on her made the walk seem more like a few miles than a few steps. She kept her head up and her stride even by sheer force of will.

In the hall the tang of sulfur was in the air, as was the heavy smell of nervous sweat. The new arrival watched her, a flicker of obsidian filling his eyes for a moment. Sara's steady gaze didn't waver. As she passed the disco-loving demon, she was sure that he flinched.

x

Crowley drained his glass and watched Sara's back as she glided gracefully out of the room and with her went the beginnings of the erection her voice had caused. She met Barton's eyes as she passed and the demon flinched. He smirked. Ordinary human girl? Not bloody likely.

Barton looked uneasily into the room and then up and down the hallway. Crowley poured the last of the champagne into his own glass. He crossed his legs, straightened the crease in his trousers and gestured for Barton to come in.

The demon fumbled with the knob and finally entered the room. He shut the door behind himself.

"Majesty I-"

The king held up one hand. "Don't tell me, the Winchesters are in trying to get past Jeffries as we speak." Crowley took a sip of the champagne.

Confusion wrinkled Barton's pockmarked forehead. "No."

"Oh, well they must be in the city then." Crowley studied he demon and took another sip.

"Well, no."

"In the bloody state?" The king growled.

Barton looked away, one arm shielding his already-injured midsection. He shook his head.

Crowley got up and walked around the retro demon. "So let me get this straight, they're not on the doorstep, they're not in the city, they're not even in the state. You just popped in to say hello?"

Barton was trying not to turn and watch as the king circled. "You said you wanted to know where they were and what they were up to by ten."

"And you've never heard of a text message?"

"I just thought-"

"And what was so important that you _thought_ you should interrupt my evening?" Crowley moved in front of Barton again.

Barton licked his lips. "They're in North Dakota."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

"They're trying to get rid of a woman in white but that was just a job they picked up along the way. They're really after a bit of prophecy."

"How do you know that?" Crowley sat down again and crossed his legs.

"They were arguing about it. They're looking for some convent library and having no luck. Sam's searched every way he could think of and can't find anything so he wants to give up. Dean is sure that there's something in whatever tip they got and he wants to keep searching." The words came out in a tumble.

They would argue for awhile, but if Squirrel wanted to chase something Moose would grumble but he'd go along. Course the only thing that would inspire that kind of tenacity in the boys was a way to close the gates of Hell. "The angel?" Crowley asked.

"Not with them. They've been calling and he's not responding."

Crowley thought for a long moment. "I want another report tomorrow. Get out."

Barton looked relieved as he disappeared. Crowley took a sip of the champagne and savored it. Ridiculous as he was, the demon had given him some very interesting information, not that he would ever tell him that. He pulled out his phone, found Barton in his contact list and quickly typed a message. 'I saw you flinch.' He hit send and slipped his phone back in his pocket. Fear might be greater than love, but complacency would dull its edge.

x

Sara sat on a comfortably padded rose colored stool in front a brightly lit mirror in a small anteroom of the ladies room. There were three other benches and mirrors, but none were occupied at the moment. There was no one in the other part of the restroom either. The space was larger than her entire suite and far more luxurious. Mahler's first symphony danced among the fronds of potted ferns and languished against the comfortable chairs, making the space seem far less empty.

That didn't mean that she knew what she was going to do now. How long did a meeting between a demon and the King of Hell take? Should she wait until he called her? Sara rejected that. She wasn't one of his subjects. She liked to think she had halfway decent manners though.

Sara sighed and stared at one of the small landscapes that hung next to her mirror. The artist had rendered the distant cottage in the glowing morning. It was sweet and fairly skilled and far better than anything she'd seen at the gallery. For a moment she let herself be drawn into the moment filled with golden greens and the illusion of space.

The music fell away and the soft whispers rose again. Today there was a secrecy in the sound and Sara was almost convinced that if she listened closely enough she would be able to make out the words. She focused on the sounds, unpicking the combinations as she would untangle a knot in thread, certain that any moment an end would come free and she would be able to follow the rest of it. Her vibrating phone made a soft sound against the countertop, but it was enough to shatter the moment. Sara sighed and pulled out her phone. There were a series of overexcited texts from Leah demanding to know more about her evening with Crowley.

Sara typed out a message. 'How did you even find out I was seeing him tonight?'

'You have GOT 2B kidding! Celeste told Kellen. Kellen told Benton. Benton told Jubal and Jubal told me.' There was a string of emoticons following the text, most of which Sara was certain were randomly selected.

Before Sara could think of how to respond another text came in.

'Are you going to sleep with him?'

Sara rolled her eyes. 'Not tonight.' She sent an innocent little smile along with the message and selected her e-mail. There was a message from Mallory Bond, the fashion blogger she'd met earlier.

'Terrific to meet you tonight! Check out the blog.'

Sara tapped the link enclosed and was taken to Mallory's blog entry about the gallery opening. Leah's messages were piling up, but Sara ignored them. The post raved about the artwork and the clothes, then Sara scrolled down a little further to find a photo of herself from the shoulders down under the Best Dressed of the Day. Sara suppressed an excited squeal. The fact that the paintings got rave reviews too made her wonder, but that was a question for Crowley.

She sent the link and explanation to Leah.

'You can't just say no to him! He's the king!' Leah answered. Several shocked-looking emoticons followed.

She shook her head. 'I know who he is and he doesn't have any claim on my soul or any other part of me.' She paused. 'Besides, not tonight doesn't mean not ever.'

Sara put her phone away and started back to see if Crowley was finished. In the lobby she paused to look at a painting of two elderly women in frilly white blouses. A look of determination on both of their faces. The butler who let them in walked over to her.

"They are the two Misses Mayfield, Miss Eugenia is seated and Miss Priscilla is standing. This was their family home." He stood with his hands in the small of his back, looking at the painting.

Sara couldn't quite place his accent, but it wasn't strictly New York City. "How did it become a restaurant?"

"Miss Eugenia and Miss Priscilla were very proper ladies but they loved to entertain. They were known throughout the best circles for their wonderful dinner parties. They never married and thus never had any children. When Miss Eugenia passed, the house went to another, less auspicious branch of the family. I'm sure they had good intentions, but they had no sense of how to manage an estate. The assets were soon gone and this house allowed to fall into disrepair until it was sold. Fortunately, the buyer wanted to maintain the integrity and history of the house and the Mayfield House Inn was born."

"It's a beautiful setting." Sara said. She looked down the hallways that split off from the entryway.

"Thank you for saying so. May I direct you to the study?" Jeffries asked.

"Please."

He gestured with one arm. "It's the third door on the left. I can escort you if you wish."

"No thank you."

He gave a short bow. "Enjoy your evening."

Sara walked back down the hall and glanced into the room. Crowley stood at the bookcase leafing through a book. He was alone and looked like something was on his mind. She tapped on the door and then walked in.

x

It was after one in the morning when Crowley and Sara finished dinner. Through the meal Sara was sure that Crowley was trying to lead the conversation back to the other schools. Since he didn't come out and ask, she was purposely blind to his tactics. If he was frustrated he didn't let it show.

They started down walking down the sidewalk. He picked up her hand and wrapped it around the crook of his arm. "Well, shall we go on to a club?"

Sara laughed. "Isn't it a bit late for that?"

"Not for the club I'm thinking of."

She shook her head. "Maybe another time." She put on a serious face. "I'm expected at confession at eight in the morning."

Crowley looked at the sky. "Bless me Father for I have spent _days_ indulging in the most deliciously impure thoughts about the King of Hell."

Sara laughed. "Oh you're coming too, are you? Mind you I don't think I've ever heard of anyone confessing to having impure thoughts about themselves, but there's a first time for everything."

"Smartass." He chuckled and started walking again. "So, what does your morning sacrament have to do with tonight's fun?"

"I need to be awake enough to sound sincere so that Father Gordon doesn't question any of my half-truths."

He stopped and looked at her, surprise and amusement sparkling in his eyes. "You go to confession and lie?"

"It's not my choice to go, it's a requirement. Besides, if God is omniscient, then He already knows what I did and if I'm sorry and He'll forgive me or not. Telling someone else is just a means of social control." She looked up at him. The way the streetlights glanced off his eyes brought out the sparks of fire in their depths and for a moment Sara's breath caught. Words failed for a moment.

"And everyone sees who you appear to be." He supplied.

Sara smiled. "Rule number one of surviving Catholic school, information is ammunition. Make sure you have more than they do."

He held out his hand. "Shall we go?"

Sara took it, her eyes on his. "Yes."

He pulled her closer and put his hand on her waist before the world fell away. She gripped his hand a little tighter and leaned into him.

When the world came back Sara was expecting to be on the roof, but instead they were in her darkened room. She was trapped between his body and the wall. Her eyes widened. Crowley opened his mouth to speak but Sara shook her head frantically, silencing him.

"You can't be here." She whispered.

He caught her face and leaned close to her ear. "Evidence would suggest otherwise, pet." His voice was barely audible, but his breath caressed her skin with heat. For a moment the sensation had her full attention.

She fought the urge to lean into him. "This is a school for girls in the middle of a convent. Anything that sounds even remotely like a man-"

"Is that all you're worried about?" His lips brushed against her ear.

Sara bit her lip to silence the little moan. "You won't be the one in trouble."

He stood up and whispered something she couldn't quite hear. "There. All fixed." His voice was still soft, but he wasn't whispering anymore. The sound was different, flattened.

"What did you do?" Sara asked.

"Bit of magic." He pulled her close again. This time his mouth found hers with teasing touches. "Anyone can do it."

Sara might have taken the initiative on the roof, but Crowley was completely in charge now. She didn't even question it. "Anyone?" Her lips searched for more contact. His tongue fluttered over her lips and the tip of her tongue sought it out.

His fingers circled in the small of her back. "Well, anyone who reads the right books." His teeth caught her lower lip and Sara moaned. "Or anyone who had a very," Another light nip. "Very good teacher." His mouth finally closed over hers.

Sara's head was spinning. She stroked his tongue with hers, her hands stroking up over his back. His mouth was becoming more demanding and she met his hunger with her own. His fingers moved up over her back, tracing elaborate designs on either side of her spine and up to her bare shoulders. Her knees weakened and she held him tighter. For what seemed like hours she stayed lost in those myriad sensations, happy to let passion carry her. When his fingers found the top of the zipper on her dress she came back to herself and she put her hands flat on his chest, reluctantly breaking the kiss.

"I said that wasn't going to happen tonight." She tried to hide the little tremors that went through her, but was wholly unsuccessful.

He tilted her head and he trailed light kisses down the side of her neck. "Are you certain of that, pet?"

She took a deep breath and tried to forget about what he was doing, and what it was doing to her. "I'm certain." The tremor in her voice made her sound considerably less certain.

"And if I don't accept that?" His voice was a gravelly whisper next to her ear. The implication was enough to focus Sara's mind.

She fixed her eyes on his, studying them for a moment. "I think you'll accept it because you'd find the alternative uninteresting."

He chuckled and kissed her lightly. "Next time?"

She deepened the kiss again then smiled up at him. "No promises."

"I'll have to try to be more convincing then." He stepped back, his hands still resting on her waist. "Sleep well, Pet." He took his hands off of her waist, but Sara caught one.

"Crowley?"

His eyebrows rose slightly and Sara smiled. "Thank you for tonight."

He kissed the inside of her wrist and vanished. Sara stood with her back against the wall and tried to catch her breath as the emptiness of the room closed in around her. A moment later the ambient sounds of the resting building filtered in again. The spell had departed as well.


End file.
